90024 


,, 

POR  Ml  RAZA  HABLARA  Ml  ESPmiTl) 


Little  hands  caught  hold  of  him  and  fought 
with  the  current 

Frontispiece.    Page  30 


A   DAUGHTER   OF 
THE  DONS 

A  Story  of  New  Mexico  To-day 

BY 

William  MacLeod  Raine 

AUTHOR  OF  "WYOMING,"  "RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA,"  "BUCKY 

O'CONNOR,"  "MAVERICKS,"  "A  TEXAS  RANGER,"  "BRAND  BLOTTERS," 

"CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT,"  "THE  VISION  SPLENDID," 

"THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

D.  C.   HUTCHISON 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


FOR  Ml  RAZA  HABLARA  MI  ESPIRiTU 


Uflivcrsity  of  California 

405  Hilgard  Avenue 
H.OS  Angeles,  Calif.  90024 


COPYRIGHT,  1914,  BY 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


A  Daughter  of  On  Dons  \ 


Printed  by 

J.J.  Little  &Ives  Co. 
New  York 


3RLF 
VRL 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  DON  MANUEL  INTRODUCES  HIMSELF.     .     . 

II.  THE  Two  GRANTS 15 

III.  FISHERMAN'S  LUCK 27 

IV.  AT  THE  YUSTE  HACIENDA  ........  42 

V.  "AN  OPTIMISTIC  Guy" 61 

VI.  JUANITA 76 

VII.  Two  MESSAGES 88 

VIII.  TAMING  AN  OUTLAW 101 

IX.  OF  DON  MANUEL  AND  MOONLIGHT  .     .     .     .  in 
X.  MR.  AINSA  DELIVERS  A  MESSAGE     .     .     .     .  123 
XI.  THE   SIXTEENTH   CENTURY   AND   THE  TWEN- 
TIETH       137 

XII.  "I  BELIEVE  YOU'RE  IN  LOVE  WITH  HER  Too"     .  149 

XIII.  AMBUSHED 159 

XIV.  MANUEL  TO  THE  RESCUE 173 

XV.  ONE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  REWARD    .     .     .     .  193 

XVI.  VALENCIA  MAKES  A  PROMISE 201 

XVII.  AN  OBSTINATE  MAN 213 

XVIII.  MANUEL  INTERFERES    .     .     .     .  "  .     .     .     .  230 

XIX.  VALENCIA  ACCEPTS  A  RING 240 

XX.  DICK  LIGHTS  A  CIGARETTE 246 

XXI.  WHEN  THE  WIRES  WERE  CUT     ...     .     .  259 

XXII.  THE  ATTACK  . 269 

XXIII.  THE  TIN  Box 287 

XXIV.  DICK  GORDON  APOLOGIZES 298 

XXV.  THE  PRINCE  CONSORT 307 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


Little  hands  caught  hold  of  him  and  fought  with 

the  strong  current Frontispiece      30 

Holding  the  letter  in  his  fingers  until  it  had  burned 

to  a  black  flake 254 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

CHAPTER   I 

DON    MANUEL    INTRODUCES    HIMSELF 

For  hours  Manuel  Pesquiera  had  been  rolling  up 
the  roof  of  the  continent  in  an  observation-car  of 
the  "Short  Line." 

His  train  had  wound  in  and  out  through  a  maze 
of  bewildering  scenery,  and  was  at  last  dipping 
down  into  the  basin  of  the  famous  gold  camp. 

The  alert  black  eyes  of  the  young  New  Mexican 
wandered  discontentedly  over  the  raw  ugliness  of 
the  camp.  Towns  straggled  here  and  there  untidily 
at  haphazard,  mushroom  growths  of  a  day  born  of 
a  lucky  "strike."  Into  the  valleys  and  up  and  down 
the  hillsides  ran  a  network  of  rails  for  trolley  and 
steam  cars.  Everywhere  were  the  open  tunnel 
mouths  or  the  frame  shaft-houses  perched  above 
the  gray  Titan  dump  beards. 

The  magic  that  had  wonderfully  brought  all  these 
manifold  activities  into  being  had  its  talisman  in 
the  word  "Gold";  but,  since  Pesquiera  had  come 
neither  as  a  prospector  nor  investor,  he  heard  with 

5 


6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

only  half -concealed  impatience  the  easy  gossip  of 
his  fellow  travelers  about  the  famous  ore  producers 
of  the  district. 

It  was  not  until  his  inattentive  ears  caught  the 
name  of  Dick  Gordon  that  he  found  interest  in  the 
conversation. 

"Pardon,  sir!  Are  you  acquaint'  with  Mr.  Rich- 
ard Gordon?"  he  asked,  a  touch  of  the  gentle  Span- 
ish accent  in  his  voice. 

The  man  to  whom  he  had  spoken,  a  grizzled, 
weather-beaten  little  fellow  in  a  corduroy  suit  and 
white,  broad-brimmed  felt  hat,  turned  his  steady 
blue  eyes  on  his  questioner  a  moment  before  he  an- 
swered : 

"I  ought  to  know  him,  seeing  as  I'm  his  partner." 
"Then  you  can  tell  me  where  I  may  find  him?" 
"Yes,  sir,  I  can  do  that.  See  that  streak  of  red 
there  on  the  hill — the  one  above  the  big  dump. 
That's  the  shafthouse  of  the  Last  Dollar.  Drop 
down  it  about  nine  hundred  feet  and  strike  an  air- 
line west  by  north  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
and  you'd  be  right  close  to  him.  He's  down  there, 
tackling  a  mighty  uncertain  proposition.  The  shaft 
and  the  workings  of  the  Last  Dollar  are  full  of 
water.  He's  running  a  crosscut  from  an  upraise  in 
the  Radley  drift,  so  as  to  tap  the  west  tunnel  of  the 
Last  Dollar." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS  7 

"It  is  dangerous,  you  inform  me?" 

"Dangerous  ain't  the  word.  It's  suicide,  the  way 
I  look  at  it.  See  here,  my  friend.  His  drill  goes 
through  and  lets  loose  about  'steen  million  gallons 
of  water.  How  is  he  going  to  get  in  out  of  the 
rain  about  that  time?" 

The  New  Mexican  showed  a  double  row  of  pearly 
teeth  in  a  bland  smile. 

"Pardon,  sir.  If  you  would  explain  a  leetle  more 
fully  I  would  then  comprehend." 

"Sure.  Here's  the  way  it  is.  Dick  and  his  three 
men  are  plugging  away  at  the  breast  of  the  drift 
with  air-drills.  Every  day  he  gits  closeter  to  that 
lake  dammed  up  there.  Right  now  there  can't  be 
more'n  a  few  feet  of  granite  'twixt  him  and  it.  He 
don't  know  how  many  any  more'n  a  rabbit,  because 
he's  going  by  old  maps  that  ain't  any  too  reliable. 
The  question  is  whether  the  wall  will  hold  till  he 
dynamites  it  through,  or  whether  the  weight  of 
water  will  crumple  up  that  granite  and  come  pour- 
ing out  in  a  flood." 

"Your  friend,  then,  is  in  peril,  is  it  not  so?" 

"You've  said  it.  He's  shooting  dice  with  death. 
That's  the  way  I  size  it  up.  If  the  wall  holds  till 
it's  blown  up,  Dick  has  got  to  get  back  along  the 
crosscut,  lower  himself  down  the  upraise,  and  travel 
nearly  a  mile  through  tunnelings  before  he  reaches 


8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

a  shaft  to  git  out.  That  don't  leave  them  any  too 
much  time  at  the  best.  But  if  the  water  breaks 
through  on  them,  it's  Heaven  help  Dick,  and  good- 
by  to  this  world." 

"Then  Mr.  Gordon  is  what  you  call  brave  ?" 

"He's  the  gamest  man  that  ever  walked  into  this 
camp.  There  ain't  an  inch  of  him  that  ain't  clear 
grit  through  and  through.  Get  into  a  tight  place, 
and  he's  your  one  best  bet  to  tie  to." 

"Mr.  Gordon  is  fortunate  in  his  friend,"  bowed 
the  New  Mexican  politely. 

The  little  miner  looked  at  him  with  shining  eyes. 
"Nothing  like  that.  Me,  I  figure  the  luck's  all  on 
my  side.  Onct  you  meet  Dick  you'll  see  why  we 
boost  for  him.  Hello,  here's  where  we  get  off  at. 
If  you're  looking  for  Dick,  stranger,  you  better 
follow  me.  I'm  going  right  up  to  the  mine.  Dick 
had  ought  to  be  coming  up  from  below  any  minute 
now." 

Pesquiera  checked  his  suitcase  at  the  depot  news- 
stand and  walked  up  a  steep  hill  trail  with  his  guide. 
The  miner  asked  no  questions  of  the  New  Mexican 
as  to  his  business  with  Gordon,  nor  did  the  latter 
volunteer  any  information.  They  discussed  instead 
the  output  of  the  camp  for  the  preceding  year, 
comparing  it  with  that  of  the  other  famous  gold 
districts  of  the  world. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS  9 

Just  as  they  entered  the  shafthouse  the  cage 
shot  to  the  surface.  From  it  stepped  two  men. 

Several  miners  crowded  toward  them  with  eager 
greetings,  but  they  moved  aside  at  sight  of  Pesqui- 
era's  companion,  who  made  straight  for  those  from 
below. 

"What's  new,  Tregarth?"  he  asked  of  one  of 
them,  a  huge  Cornishman. 

"The  drill  have  brook  into  the  Last  Dollar  tun- 
nel. The  watter  of  un  do  be  leaking  through, 
Measter  Davis.  The  boss  sent  us  oop  while  Tom 
and  him  stayed  to  put  the  charges  in  the  drill  holes 
to  blow  oot  the  wall.  He  wouldna  coom  and  let 
me  stay." 

Davis  thought  a  moment. 

"I'll  go  down  the  shaft  and  wait  at  the  foot  of  it. 
There'll  be  something  doing  soon.  Keep  your  eye 
peeled  for  signals,  Smith,  and  when  you  git  the 
bell  to  raise,  shoot  her  up  sudden.  If  the  water's 
coming,  we'll  be  in  a  hurry,  and  don't  you  forget  it. 
Want  to  come  down  with  me,  Tregarth  ?" 

"I  do  that,  sir."  The  man  stepped  into  the  cage 
and  grinned.  "We'll  bring  the  byes  back  all  right. 
Bet  un  we  do,  lads." 

The  cage  shot  down,  and  the  New  Mexican  sat 
on  a  bench  to  wait  its  return.  Beside  him  was  a 


10          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

young  doctor,  who  had  come  prepared  for  a  pos- 
sible disaster.  Such  conversation  as  the  men  car- 
ried on  was  in  low  tones,  for  all  felt  the  strain  of 
the  long  minutes.  The  engineer's  eye  was  glued  to 
his  machinery,  his  hand  constantly  on  the  lever. 

It  must  have  been  an  hour  before  the  bell  rang 
sharply  in  the  silence  and  the  lever  swept  back 
instantly.  A  dozen  men  started  to  their  feet  and 
waited  tensely.  Next  moment  there  was  a  wild, 
exultant  cheer. 

For  Tregarth  had  stepped  from  the  cage  with  a 
limp  figure  in  his  arms,  and  after  him  Davis,  his 
arm  around  the  shoulder  of  a  drenched,  staggering 
youth,  who  had  a  bleeding  cut  across  his  cheek. 
Through  all  the  grime  that  covered  the  wounded 
miner  the  pallor  of  exhaustion  showed  itself. 

But  beaten  and  buffeted  as  the  man  had  plainly 
been  in  his  fight  for  life,  the  clean,  supple  strength 
and  the  invincible  courage  of  him  still  shone  in  his 
eye  and  trod  in  his  bearing.  It  was  even  now  the 
salient  thing  about  him,  though  he  had  but  come, 
alive  and  no  more,  from  a  wrestle  with  death  itself. 

He  sank  to  a  bench,  and  looked  around  on  his 
friends  with  shining  eyes. 

"  'Twas  nip  and  tuck,  boys.  The  water  caught 
us  in  the  tunnel,  and  I  thought  we  were  gone.  It 
swept  us  right  to  the  cage,"  he  panted. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          11 

"She  didn't  sweep  Tom  there,  boss;  ye  went 
back  after  un,"  corrected  the  Cornishman. 

"Anyhow,  we  made  it  in  the  nick  o'  time.  Tom 
all  right,  Doctor?" 

The  doctor  looked  up  from  his  examination. 

"No  bones  broken.  He  seems  sound.  If  there 
are  no  internal  injuries  it  will  be  a  matter  of  only 
a  day  or  two  in  bed." 

"Good.  That's  the  way  to  talk.  You  got  to 
make  him  good  as  new,  Doctor.  You  ought  to 
have  seen  the  way  he  stayed  by  that  drill  when 
the  water  was  pouring  through  the  cracks  in  the 
granite.  Have  him  taken  to  the  hospital,  and  send 
the  bill  to  me." 

Tregarth  boomed  out  in  a  heavy  bass : 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  boss?  Both  of  un? 
They  be  all  right.  Bean't  they,  lads  ?" 

It  was  just  after  the  answering  chorus  that  Pes- 
quiera  came  forward  and  bowed  magnificently  to 
the  young  mine  operator.  The  New  Mexican's  eyes 
were  blazing  with  admiration,  for  he  was  of  Cas- 
tilian  blood  and  cherished  courage  as  the  chief  of 
virtues. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  salute  a  hero,  senor,"  he 
cried  enthusiastically.  "Your  deed  is  of  a  most  fine 
bravery.  I,  Manuel  Pesquiera,  say  it.  Have  I  the 


12         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

right  in  thinking  him  of  the  name  of  Mr.  Richard 
Gordon?" 

Something  that  was  almost  disgust  filmed  the 
gray  eyes  of  the  young  miner.  He  had  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  horror  of  heroics.  What  he  had  done  was 
all  in  the  day's  work,  and  he  was  the  last  man  in 
the  world  to  enjoy  having  a  fuss  made  over  it. 

"My  name  is  Gordon,"  he  saicl  quietly. 

The  Spaniard  bowed  again. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  servant  to  com- 
mand, Don  Manuel  Pesquiera.  I  believe  myself  to 
be,  sir,  a  messenger  of  fortune  to  you — a  Mercury 
from  the  favoring  gods,  with  news  of  good  import. 
I,  therefore,  ask  the  honor  of  an  audience  at  your 
convenience." 

Dick  flung  the  wet  hat  from  his  curly  head  and 
took  a  look  at  the  card  which  the  Spaniard  had  pre- 
sented him.  From  it  his  humorous  gaze  went  back 
to  the  posturing  owner  of  the  pasteboard.  Sup- 
pressing a  grin,  he  answered  with  perfect  gravity. 

"If  you  will  happen  round  to  the  palace  about 
noon  to-morrow,  Senor  Pesquiera,  you  will  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  presence  by  the  court  flunkies.  When 
you're  inquiring  for  the  whereabouts  of  the  palace, 
better  call  it  room  14,  Gold  Nugget  Rooming- 
House." 

He  excused  himself  and  stepped  lightly  across  to 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          13 

his  companion  in  the  adventure,  who  had  by  this 
time  recovered  consciousness. 

"How  goes  it,  Tom?  Feel  as  if  you'd  been  run 
through  a  sausage-grinder?"  he  asked  cheerily. 

The  man  smiled  faintly.  "I'm  all  right,  boss. 
The  boys  tell  me  you  went  back  and  saved  me." 

"Sho !  I  just  grabbed  you  and  slung  you  in  the 
cage.  No  trick  at  all,  Tom.  Now,  don't  you  worry, 
boy.  Just  lie  there  in  the  hospital  and  rest  easy. 
We're  settling  the  bill,  and  there's  a  hundred  plunks 
waiting  you  when  you  get  well." 

Tom's  hand  pressed  his  feebly. 

"I  always  knew  you  were  white,  boss." 

The  doctor  laughed  as  he  came  forward  with  a 
basin  of  water  and  bandages. 

"I'm  afraid  he'll  be  whiter  than  he  need  be  if  I 
don't  stop  that  bleeding.  I  think  we're  ready  for  it 
now,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"All  right.  It's  only  a  scratch,"  answered  Gor- 
don indifferently. 

Pesquiera,  feeling  that  he  was  out  of  the  picture, 
departed  in  search  of  a  hotel  for  the  night.  He  was 
conscious  of  a  strong  admiration  for  this  fair 
brown-faced  Anglo-Saxon  who  faced  death  so 
lightly  for  one  of  his  men.  Whatever  else  he  might 
prove  to  be,  Richard  Gordon  was  a  man. 


14          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  New  Mexican  had  an  uneasy  prescience  that 
his  mission  was  foredoomed  to  failure  and  that 
it  might  start  currents  destined  to  affect  potently  the 
lives  of  many  in  the  Rio  Chama  Valley. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  TWO    GRANTS 

The  clock  in  the  depot  tower  registered  just 
twelve,  and  the  noon  whistles  were  blowing  when 
Pesquiera  knocked  at  apartment  14,  of  the  Gold 
Nugget  Rooming-House. 

In  answer  to  an  invitation  to  "Come  in,"  he  en- 
tered an  apartment  which  seemed  to  be  a  combina- 
tion office  and  living-room.  A  door  opened  into 
what  the  New  Mexican  assumed  to  be  a  sleeping 
chamber,  adjoining  which  was  evidently  a  bath, 
judging  from  the  sound  of  splashing  water. 

"With  you  in  a  minute,"  a  voice  from  within 
assured  the  guest. 

The  splashing  ceased.  There  was  the  sound  of  a 
towel  in  vigorous  motion.  This  was  followed  by 
the  rustling  of  garments  as  the  bather  dressed.  In 
an  astonishingly  short  time  the  owner  of  the  rooms 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

He  was  a  well-set-up  youth,  broad  of  shoulder 
and  compact  of  muscle.  The  ruddy  bloom  that  beat 

15 


16         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

through  the  tanned  cheeks  and  the  elasticity  of  his 
tread  hinted  at  an  age  not  great,  but  there  was  no 
suggestion  of  immaturity  in  the  cool  steadiness  of 
the  gaze  or  in  the  quiet  poise  of  the  attitude. 

He  indicated  a  chair,  after  relieving  his  visitor  of 
hat  and  cane.  Pesquiera  glanced  at  the  bandage 
round  the  head. 

"I  trust,  senor,  your  experience  of  yesterday  has 
not  given  you  a  wakeful  night?" 

"Slept  like  a  top.  Fact  is,  I'm  just  getting  up. 
You  heard  this  morning  yet  how  Tom  is  ?" 

"The  morning  newspaper  says  he  is  doing  very 
well  indeed." 

"That's  good  hearing.  He's  a  first-rate  boy,  and 
I'd  hate  to  hear  worse  of  him.  But  I  mustn't  take 
your  time  over  our  affairs.  I  think  you  mentioned 
business,  sir?" 

The  Castilian  leaned  forward  and  fixed  his  black, 
piercing  eyes  on  the  other.  Straight  into  his  busi- 
ness he  plunged. 

"Senor  Gordon,  have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
Valdes  grant?" 

"Not  to  remember  it.  What  kind  of  a  grant  is 
it?" 

"It  is  a  land  grant,  made  by  Governor  Facundo 
Megares,  of  New  Mexico,  which  territory  was  then 
a  province  of  Spain,  to  Don  Fernando  Valdes,  in 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          17 

consideration  of  services  rendered  the  Spanish 
crown  against  the  Indians." 

Dick  shook  his  head.  "You've  got  me,  sir.  If  I 
ever  heard  of  it  the  thing  has  plumb  slipped  my 
mind.  Ought  I  to  know  about  it?" 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Moreno  grant?" 

Somewhere  in  the  back  of  the  young  man's  mind 
a  faint  memory  stirred.  He  seemed  to  see  an  old 
man  seated  at  a  table  in  a  big  room  with  a  carved 
fireplace.  The  table  was  littered  with  papers,  and 
the  old  gentleman  was  explaining  them  to  a  woman. 
She  was  his  daughter,  Dick's  mother.  A  slip  of  a 
youngster  was  playing  about  the  room  with  two 
puppies.  That  little  five-year-old  was  the  young 
mine  operator. 

"I  have,"  he  answered  calmly. 

"You  know,  then,  that  a  later  governor  of  the 
territory,  Manuel  Armijo,  illegally  carved  half  a 
million  acres  out  of  the  former  grant  and  gave  it  to 
Jose  Moreno,  from  whom  your  grandfather  bought 
it." 

The  miner's  face  froze  to  impassivity.  He  was 
learning  news.  The  very  existence  of  such  a  grant 
was  a  surprise  to  him.  His  grandfather  and  his 
mother  had  been  dead  fifteen  years.  Somewhere 
in  an  old  trunk  back  in  Kentucky  there  was  a  tin 
box  full  of  papers  that  might  tell  a  story.  But  for 


18          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

the  present  he  preferred  to  assume  that  he  knew 
what  information  they  contained. 

"I  object  to  the  word  illegal,  Don  Manuel,"  he 
answered  curtly,  not  at  all  sure  his  objection  had 
any  foundation  of  law. 

Pesquiera  shrugged.  "Very  well,  senor.  The 
courts,  I  feel  sure,  will  sustain  my  words." 

"Perhaps,  and  perhaps  not." 

"The  law  is  an  expensive  arbiter,  Senor  Gordon. 
Your  claim  is  slight.  The  title  has  never  been  per- 
fected by  you.  In  fifteen  years  you  have  paid  no 
taxes.  Still  your  claim,  though  worthless  in  itself, 
operates  as  a  cloud  upon  the  title  of  my  client,  the 
Valdes  heir." 

Dick  looked  at  him  steadily  and  nodded.  He  be- 
gan to  see  the  purpose  of  this  visit.  He  waited  si- 
lently, his  mind  very  alert. 

"Senor,  I  am  here  to  ask  of  you  a  relinquishment. 
You  are  brave ;  no  doubt,  chivalrous 

"I'm  a  business  man,  Don  Manuel,"  interrupted 
Gordon.  "I  don't  see  what  chivalry  has  got  to  do 
with  it." 

"Senorita  Valdes  is  a  woman,  young  and  beauti- 
ful. This  little  estate  is  her  sole  possession.  To 
fight  for  it  in  court  is  a  hardship  that  Senor  Gor- 
don will  not  force  upon  her." 

"So  she's  young  and  beautiful,  is  she?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          19 

"The  fairest  daughter  of  Spain  in  all  New  Mexi- 
co," soared  Don  Manuel. 

"You  don't  say.  A  regular  case  of  beauty  and 
the  beast,  ain't  it?" 

"As  one  of  her  friends,  I  ask  of  you  not  to  op- 
pose her  lawful  possession  of  this  little  vineyard." 

"In  the  grape  business,  is  she?" 

"I  speak,  senor,  in  metaphor.  The  land  is  barren, 
of  no  value  except  for  sheep  grazing." 

"Are  you  asking  me  to  sell  my  title  or  give  it?" 

"It  is  a  bagatelle — a  mere  nothing.  The  title  is 
but  waste  paper,  I  do  assure.  Yet  we  would  pur- 
chase— for  a  nominal  figure — merely  to  save  court 
expenses." 

"I  see,"  Dick  laughed  softly.  "Just  to  save  court 
expenses — because  you'd  rather  I'd  have  the  money 
than  the  lawyers.  That's  right  good  of  you." 

Pesquiera  talked  with  his  hands  and  shoulders, 
sparkling  into  animation.  "Mr.  Gordon  distrusts 
me.  So?  Am  I  not  right?  He  perhaps  mistakes 
me  for  what  you  call  a — a  pettifogger,  is  it  not?  I 
do  assure  to  the  contrary.  The  blood  of  the  Pes- 
quieras  is  of  the  bluest  Castilian." 

"Fine!  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,  Don  Manuel. 
And  I  don't  distrust  you  at  all.  But  here's  the  point. 
I'm  a  plain  American  business  man.  I  don't  buy 


20          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

and  I  don't  sell  without  first  investigating  a  propo- 
sition submitted  to  me.  I'm  from  Missouri." 

"Oh,  indeed!  From  St.  Louis  perhaps.  I  went 
to  school  there  when  I  was  a  boy." 

Gordon  laughed.  "I  was  speaking  in  metaphor, 
Don  Manuel.  What  I  mean  is  that  I'll  have  to  be 
shown.  No  pig-in-a-poke  business  for  me." 

"Exactly.  Most  precisely.  Have  I  not  traveled 
from  New  Mexico  up  this  steep  roof  of  the  conti- 
nent merely  to  explain  how  matters  stand?  Val- 
encia Valdes  is  the  true  and  rightful  heiress  of  the 
valley.  She  is  everywhere  so  recognize'  and  accept' 
by  the  peons." 

The  miner's  indolent  eye  rested  casually  upon  his 
guest.  "Married?" 

"I  have  not  that  felicitation,"  replied  the 
Spaniard. 

"It  was  the  lady  I  meant." 

"Pardon.  No  man  has  yet  been  so  fortunate  to 
win  the  senorita." 

"I  reckon  it's  not  for  want  of  trying,  since  the 
heiress  is  so  beautiful.  There's  always  plenty  of 
willing  lads  to  take  over  the  job  of  prince  regent 
under  such  circumstances." 

The  spine  of  the  New  Mexican  stiffened  ever  so 
slightly.  "Senorita  Valdes  is  princess  of  the  Rio 
Chama  valley.  Her  dependents  understan'  she  is  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          21 

a  differen'  caste,  a  descendant  of  the  great  and  re- 
nowned Don  Alvaro  of  Castile." 

"Don't  think  I  know  the  gentleman.  Who  was 
he?"  asked  Gordon  genially,  offering  his  guest  a 
cigar. 

Pesquiera  threw  up  his  neat  little  hands  in  de- 
spair. "But  of  a  certainty  Mr.  Gordon  has  read  of 
Don  Alvaro  de  Valdes  y  Castillo,  lord  of  demesnes 
without  number,  conqueror  of  the  Moors  and  of 
the  fierce  island  English  who  then  infested  Spain 
in  swarms.  His  retinue  was  as  that  of  a  king.  At 
his  many  manors  fed  daily  thirty  thousand  men  at 
arms.  In  all  Europe  no  knight  so  brave,  so  chival- 
rous, so  skillful  with  lance  and  sword.  To  the  no- 
bles his  word  was  law.  Young  men  worshiped  him, 
the  old  admired,  the  poor  blessed.  The  queen,  it  is 
said,  love'  him  madly.  She  was  of  exceeding 
beauty,  but  Don  Alvaro  remember  his  vows  of 
knighthood  and  turn  his  back  upon  madness.  Then 
the  king,  jealous  for  that  his  great  noble  was  bet- 
ter, braver  and  more  popular  than  he,  send  for  de 
Valdes  to  come  to  court." 

"I  reckon  Don  Alvaro  ought  to  have  been  sick 
a-bed  that  day  and  unable  to  make  the  journey," 
suggested  Dick. 

"So  say  his  wife  and  his  men,  but  Don  Alvaro 
scorn  to  believe  his  king  a  traitor.  He  kiss  his  wife 


22          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

and  babies  good-bye,  ride  into  the  trap  prepare'  for 
him,  and  die  like  a  soldier.  God  rest  his  valiant 
soul." 

"Some  man.  I'd  like  to  have  met  him,"  Gordon 
commented. 

"Senorita  Valencia  is  of  the  same  blood,  of  the 
same  fine  courage.  She,  too,  is  the  idol  of  her  peo- 
ple. Will  Mr.  Gordon,  who  is  himself  of  the  brave 
heart,  make  trouble  for  an  unprotected  child  with- 
out father  or  mother?" 

"Unprotected  isn't  quite  the  word  so  long  as  Don 
Manuel  Pesquiera  is  her  friend,"  the  Coloradoan 
answered  with  a  smile. 

The  dark  young  man  flushed,  but  his  eyes  met 
those  of  Dick  steadily.  "You  are  right,  sir.  I 
stand  between  her  and  trouble  if  I  can." 

"Good.    Glad  you  do." 

"So  I  make  you  an  offer.  I  ask  you  to  relinquish 
your  shadowy  claim  to  the  illegal  Moreno  grant." 

"Well,  I  can't  tell  you  offhand  just  what  I'll  do, 
Don  Manuel.  Make  your  proposition  to  me  in  writ- 
ing, and  one  month  from  to-day  I'll  let  you  know 
whether  it's  yes  or  no." 

"But  the  senorita  wants  to  make  improvements — 
to  build,  to  fence.  Delay  is  a  hardship.  Let  us  say 
a  thousand  dollars  and  make  an  end." 

"Not  if  the  court  knows  itself.     You  say  she's 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DOXS          23 

young.  A  month's  wait  won't  hurt  her  any.  I 
want  to  look  into  it.  Maybe  you're  offering  me  too 
much.  A  fifth  of  a  cent  an  acre  is  a  mighty  high 
price  for  land.  I  don't  want  any  fairest  daughter 
of  Spain  to  rob  herself  for  me,  you  know,"  he 
grinned. 

"I  exceed  my  instructions.  I  offer  two  thousand, 
Mr.  Gordon." 

"If  you  said  two  hundred  thousand,  I'd  still  say 
no  till  I  had  looked  it  up.  I'm  not  doing  business 
to-day  at  any  price,  thank  you." 

"You  are  perhaps  of  an  impression  that  this  land 
is  valuable.  On  the  contrary,  I  offer  an  assurance. 
And  our  need  of  your  shadowy  claim " 

"I  ain't  burdened  with  impressions,  except  one, 
that  I  don't  care  to  dispose  of  my  ghost-title.  We'll 
talk  business  a  month  from  to-day,  if  you  like.  No 
sooner.  Have  a  smoke,  Don  Manuel?" 

Pesquiera  declined  the  proffered  cigar  with  an 
impatient  gesture.  He  rose,  reclaimed  his  hat  and 
cane,  and  clicked  his  heels  together  in  a  stiff  bow. 

He  was  a  slight,  dark,  graceful  man,  with  small, 
neat  hands  and  feet,  trimly  gloved  and  shod.  He 
had  a  small  black  mustache  pointing  upward  in 
parallels  to  his  smooth,  olive  cheeks.  The  effect  was 
almost  foppish,  but  the  fire  in  the  snapping  eyes  con- 
tradicted any  suggestion  of  effeminacy.  His  gaze 


24          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

yielded  nothing  even  to  the  searching  one  of  Gor- 
don. 

"It  is,  then,  war  between  us,  Sefior  Gordon?"  he 
asked  haughtily. 

Dick  laughed. 

"Sho!  It's  just  business.  Maybe  I'll  take  your 
offer.  Maybe  I  won't.  I  might  want  to  run  down 
and  look  at  the  no-'count  land,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh. 

"I  think  it  fair  to  inform  you,  sir,  that  the  feel- 
ing of  the  country  down  there  is  in  favor  of  the 
Valdes  grant.  The  peons  are  hot-tempered,  and  are 
likely  to  resent  any  attempt  to  change  the  existing 
conditions.  Your  presence,  senor,  would  be  a  dan- 
ger." 

"Much  obliged,  Don  Manuel.  Tell  'em  from  me 
that  I  got  a  bad  habit  of  wearing  a  six-gun,  and 
that  if  they  get  to  resenting  too  arduous  it's  likely 
to  ventilate  their  enthusiasm." 

Once  more  the  New  Mexican  bowed  stiffly  before 
he  retired. 

Pesquiera  had  overplayed  his  hand.  He  had 
stirred  in  the  miner  an  interest  born  of  curiosity 
and  a  sense  of  romantic  possibilities.  Dick  wanted 
to  see  this  daughter  of  Castile  who  was  still  to  the 
simple-hearted  shepherds  of  the  valley  a  princess  of 
the  blood  royal.  Don  Manuel  was  very  evidently 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS         25 

her  lover.  Perhaps  it  was  his  imagination  that  had 
mixed  the  magic  potion  that  lent  an  atmosphere  of 
old-world  pastoral  charm  to  the  story  of  the  Val- 
xies  grant.  Likely  enough  the  girl  would  prove 
commonplace  in  a  proud  half -educated  fashion  that 
would  be  intolerable  for  a  stranger. 

But  even  without  the  help  of  the  New  Mexican 
the  situation  was  one  which  called  for  a  thorough 
personal  investigation.  Gordon  was  a  hard-headed 
American  business  man,  though  he  held  within  him 
the  generous  and  hare-brained  potentialities  of  a 
soldier  of  fortune.  He  meant  to  find  out  just  what 
the  Moreno  grant  was  worth.  After  he  had  investi- 
gated his  legal  standing  he  would  look  over  the  val- 
ley of  the  Chama  himself.  He  took  no  stock  in  Don 
Manuel's  assurance  that  the  land  was  worthless,  any 
more  than  he  gave  weight  to  his  warning  that  a 
personal  visit  to  the  scene  would  be  dangerous  if 
the  settlers  believed  he  came  to  interfere  with  their 
rights.  For  many  turbulent  years  Dick  Gordon  had 
held  his  own  in  a  frontier  community  where  un- 
tamed enemies  had  passed  him  daily  with  hate  in 
their  hearts.  He  was  not  going  to  let  the  sulky  re- 
sentment of  a  few  shepherds  interfere  with  his 
course  now. 

A  message  flashed  back  to  a  little  town  in  Ken- 


«6         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

tucky  that  afternoon.    It  was  of  the  regulation  ten- 
words  length,  and  this  was  the  body  of  it : 

Send  immediately,  by  express,  little  brown  leather 
trunk  in  garret. 

The  signature  at  the  bottom  of  it  was  "Richard 
Gordon." 


CHAPTER   III 
FISHERMAN'S  LUCK 

A  fisherman  was  whipping  the  stream  of  the  Rio 
Chama. 

In  his  creel  were  a  dozen  trout,  for  the  speckled 
beauties  had  been  rising  to  the  fly  that  skipped 
across  the  top  of  the  riffles  as  naturally  as  life.  He 
wore  waders,  gray  flannel  shirt,  and  khaki  coat.  As 
he  worked  up  the  stream  he  was  oftener  in  its  swirl- 
ing waters  than  on  the  shore.  But  just  now  the  fish 
were  no  longer  striking. 

"Time  to  grub,  anyhow.  I'll  give  them  a  rest  for 
a  while.  They'll  likely  be  on  the  job  again  soon," 
he  told  himself  as  he  waded  ashore. 

A  draw  here  ran  down  to  the  river,  and  its  sunny 
hillside  tempted  him  to  eat  his  lunch  farther  up. 

Into  the  little  basin  in  which  he  found  himself  the 
sun  had  poured  shafts  of  glory  to  make  a  very  para- 
dise of  color.  Down  by  the  riverside  the  willows 
were  hesitating  between  green  and  bronze.  Russet 
and  brown  and  red  peppered  the  slopes,  but  shades 
of  yellow  predominated  in  the  gulch  itself. 

27 


28          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  angler  ate  his  sandwiches  leisurely,  and 
stretched  his  lithe  body  luxuriantly  on  the  ground 
for  a  siesta.  When  he  resumed  his  occupation  the 
sun  had  considerably  declined  from  the  meridian. 
The  fish  were  again  biting,  and  he  landed  two  in  as 
many  minutes. 

The  bed  of  the  river  had  been  growing  steeper, 
and  at  the  upper  entrance  of  the  little  park  he  came 
to  the  first  waterfall  he  had  seen.  Above  this,  on 
the  opposite  side,  was  a  hole  that  looked  inviting. 
He  decided  that  a  dead  tree  lying  across  the  river 
would,  at  a  pinch,  serve  for  a  bridge,  and  he  ven- 
tured upon  it.  Beneath  his  feet  the  rotting  bark 
gave  way.  He  found  himself  falling,  tried  desper- 
ately to  balance  himself,  and  plunged  head  first  into 
the  river. 

Coming  to  the  surface,  he  caught  at  a  rock  which 
jutted  from  the  channel.  At  this  point  the  water 
was  deep  and  the  current  swift.  Were  he  to  let 
loose  of  the  boulder  he  must  be  swept  over  the  fall 
before  he  could  reach  the  shore.  Nor  could  he  long 
maintain  his  position  against  the  rush  of  the  ice- 
cold  waters  fresh  from  the  mountain  snow  fields. 

He  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  take  his 
chances  with  the  fall,  when  a  clear  cry  came  ring- 
ing to  him: 

"No  suelte!" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          29 

A  figure  was  flying  down  the  slope  toward  him — 
the  slim,  graceful  form  of  a  woman.  As  she  ran 
she  caught  up  a  stick  from  the  ground.  This  she 
held  out  to  him  from  the  bank. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  would  only  drag  you  in." 

She  put  her  fingers  to  her  mouth  and  gave  a  clear 
whistle.  Far  up  on  the  slope  a  pony  lifted  its  head 
and  nickered.  Again  her  whistle  shrilled,  and  the 
bronco  trotted  down  toward  her. 

"Can  you  hold  on?"  she  asked  in  English. 

He  was  chilled  to  the  marrow,  but  he  answered 
quietly:  "I  reckon." 

She  was  gone,  swift- footed  as  a  deer,  to  meet 
the  descending  animal.  He  saw  her  swing  to  the 
saddle  and  lean  over  it  as  the  pace  quickened  to  a 
gallop. 

He  did  not  know  her  fingers  were  busy  preparing 
the  rawhide  lariat  that  depended  from  the  side  of 
the  saddle.  On  the  very  bank  she  brought  up  with  a 
jerk  that  dragged  her  mount  together,  and  at  the 
same  moment  slipped  to  the  ground. 

Running  open  the  noose  of  the  lariat,  she  dropped 
it  surely  over  his  shoulders.  The  other  end  of  the 
rope  was  fastened  to  the  saddle-horn,  and  the  cow- 
pony,  used  to  roping  and  throwing  steers,  braced 
itself  with  wide-planted  front  feet  for  the  shock. 


30         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Can  you  get  your  arm  through  the  loop?"  cried 
the  girl. 

His  arms  were  like  lead,  and  almost  powerless. 
With  one  hand  he  knew  he  could  not  hang  on.  Nor 
did  he  try  longer  than  for  that  one  desperate  instant 
when  he  shot  his  fist  through  the  loop.  The  wall  of 
water  swept  him  away,  but  the  taut  rope  swung  him 
shoreward. 

Little  hands  caught  hold  of  him  and  fought  with 
the  strong  current  for  the  body  of  the  almost  un- 
conscious man;  fought  steadily  and  strongly,  for 
there  was  strength  in  the  small  wrists  and  compact 
muscle  in  the  shapely  arms.  She  was  waist  deep  in 
the  water  before  she  won,  for  from  above  she  could 
find  no  purchase  for  the  lift. 

The  fisherman's  opening  eyes  looked  into  dark 
anxious  ones  that  gazed  at  him  from  beneath  the 
longest  lashes  he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  an  odd 
sense  of  being  tangled  up  in  them  and  being  unable 
to  escape,  of  being  both  abashed  and  happy  in  his 
imprisonment.  What  he  thought  was :  "They  don't 
have  eyes'  like  those  out  of  heaven."  What  he  said- 
was  entirely  different. 

"Near  thing.  Hadn't  been  for  you  I  wouldn't 
have  made  it." 

At  his  words  she  rose  from  her  knees  to  her  full 
height,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  slenderly  tall  and 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          31 

fashioned  of  gracious  curves.  The  darkness  of  her 
clear  skin  was  emphasized  by  the  mass  of  blue-black 
hair  from  which  little  ears  peeped  with  exquisite 
daintiness.  The  mouth  was  sweet  and  candid,  red- 
lipped,  with  perfect  teeth  just  showing  in  the  full 
arch.  The  straight  nose,  with  its  sensitive  nostrils, 
proclaimed  her  pure  patrician. 

"You  are  wet,"  he  cried.  "You  went  in  after 
me." 

She  looked  down  at  her  dripping  skirts,  and 
laughter  rippled  over  her  face  like  the  wind  in 
golden  grain.  It  brought  out  two  adorable  dimples 
near  the  tucked-in  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"I  am  damp,"  she  conceded. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?  The  water  might  have 
swept  you  away,"  he  chided,  coming  to  a  sitting 
posture. 

"And  if  I  hadn't  it  might  have  swept  you  away," 
she  answered,  with  a  flash  of  her  ivory  teeth. 

He  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"You  risked  your  life  to  save  mine." 

"Is  it  not  worth  it,  sir?" 

"That  ain't  for  me  to  say.  The  point  is,  you  took 
the  chance." 

Her  laughter  bubbled  again.  "You  mean,  I  took 
the  bath." 


32         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  expect  you'll  have  to  listen  to  what  I've  got  to 
say,  ma'am." 

"Are  you  going  to  scold  me?  Was  I  precipitate? 
Perhaps  you  were  attempting  suicide.  Forgive,  I 
pray." 

He  ignored  her  raillery,  and  told  her  what  he 
thought  of  a  courage  so  fine  and  ready.  He  per- 
mitted a  smile  to  temper  his  praise,  as  he  added: 
"You  mustn't  go  jumping  in  the  river  after  strangers 
if  you  don't  want  them  to  say,  'Thank  you  kindly.' 
You  find  four  out  of  five  of  them  want  to,  don't 
you?" 

"It  is  not  yet  a  habit  of  mine.    You're  the  first." 

"I  hope  I'll  be  the  last." 

She  began  to  wring  out  the  bottom  of  her  skirt, 
and  he  was  on  his  knees  at  once  to  do  it  for  her. 

"That  will  do  very  nicely,"  she  presently  said, 
the  color  billowing  her  cheeks. 

He  gathered  wood  and  lit  a  fire,  being  fortunate 
enough  to  find  his  match-case  had  been  waterproof. 
He  piled  on  dry  branches  till  the  fire  roared  and 
licked  out  for  the  moisture  in  their  clothes. 

"I've  been  wondering  how  you  happened  to  see 
me  in  the  water,"  he  said.  "You  were  riding  past, 
I  expect?" 

"No,  I  was  sketching.    I  saw  you  when  you  came 


up  to  eat  your  lunch,  and  I  watched  you  go  back  to 
the  river." 

"Do  you  live  near  here,  then?"  he  asked. 

"About  three  miles  away." 

"And  you  were  watching  me  all  the  time?"  He 
put  his  statement  as  a  question. 

"No,  I  wasn't,"  the  young  woman  answered  in- 
dignantly. "You  happened  to  be  in  the  landscape." 

"A  blot  in  it,"  he  suggested.  "A  hop-toad  splash- 
ing in  the  puddle." 

The  every-ready  dimples  flashed  out  at  this. 
"You  did  make  quite  a  splash  when  you  went  in. 
The  fish  must  have  thought  it  was  a  whale." 

"And  when  I  told  you  the  water  was  fine,  and 
you  came  in,  too,  they  probably  took  you  for  a 
naiad." 

She  thanked  him  with  an  informal  little  nod. 

"I  thought  you  Anglo-Saxons  did  not  give  com- 
pliments." 

"I  don't,"  he  immediately  answered. 

"Oh!  If  that  isn't  another  one,  I'm  mistaken, 
sir."  She  turned  indifferently  away,  apparently  of 
the  opinion  that  she  had  been  quite  friendly  enough 
to  this  self-possessed  young  stranger. 

Rewinding  the  lariat,  she  fastened  it  to  the  sad- 
dle, then  swung  to  the  seat  before  he  could  step  for- 
ward to  aid  her. 


34          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  hope  you  will  suffer  no  bad  effects  from  your 
bath,"  he  said. 

"I  shall  not;  but  I'm  afraid  you  will.  You  were 
in  long  enough  to  get  thoroughly  chilled.  Adios, 
senor" 

He  called  to  her  before  the  pony  had  taken  a 
dozen  steps : 

"Your  handkerchief,  senorita!" 

She  turned  in  the  saddle  and  waited  for  him  to 
bring  it.  He  did  so,  and  she  noticed  that  he  limped 
badly. 

"You  have  hurt  yourself,"  she  said  quickly. 

"I  must  have  jammed  my  knee  against  a  rock," 
he  explained.  "Nothing  serious." 

"But  it  pains  ?" 

"Just  enough  to  let  me  know  it's  there." 

Frowning,  she  watched  him. 

"Is  it  a  bruise  or  a  sprain?" 

"A  wrench,  I  think.  It  will  be  all  right  if  I  favor 
it." 

"Favor  it?  Except  the  ranch,  there  is  no  place 
nearer  than  seven  miles.  You  are  staying  at  Cor- 
bett's,  I  presume?" 

"Yes." , 

"You  can't  walk  back  there  to-night.  That  is 
certain."  She  slipped  from  the  saddle.  "You'll 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          35 

have  to  go  back  to  the  ranch  with  me,  sir.  I  can 
walk  very  well." 

He  felt  a  wave  of  color  sweep  his  face. 

"I  couldn't  take  the  horse  and  let  you  walk." 

"That  is  nonsense,  sir.    You  can,  and  you  shall." 

"If  I  am  to  take  your  horse  I  need  not  saddle 
myself  upon  your  hospitality.  I  can  ride  back  to 
Corbett's,  and  send  the  horse  home  to-morrow." 

"It  is  seven  miles  to  Miguel's,  and  Corbett's  is 
three  beyond  that.  No  doctor  would  advise  that 
long  ride  before  your  knee  receives  attention.  I 
think,  sir,  you  will  have  to  put  up  with  the  ranch 
till  to-morrow." 

"You  ain't  taking  my  intention  right.  All  I 
meant  was  that  I  didn't  like  to  unload  myself  on 
your  folks;  but  if  you  say  I'm  to  do  it  I'll  be  very 
happy  to  be  your  guest."  He  said  it  with  a  touch 
of  boyish  embarrassment  she  found  becoming. 

"We'll  stop  at  the  top  of  the  hill  and  take  on  my 
drawing  things,"  she  told  him. 

He  need  have  had  no  fears  for  her  as  a  walker, 
for  she  was  of  the  elect  few  born  to  grace  of  mo- 
tion. Slight  she  was,  yet  strong;  the  delicacy  that 
breathed  from  her  was  of  the  spirit,  and  consisted 
with  perfect  health.  No  Grecian  nymph  could  have 
trod  with  lighter  or  surer  step  nor  have  uncon- 


36          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

sciously  offered  to  the  eye  more  supple  and  beauti- 
ful lines  of  limb  and  body. 

Never  had  the  young  man  seen  before  anybody 
whose  charm  went  so  poignantly  to  the  root  of  his 
emotions.  Every  turn  of  the  head,  the  set  of  the 
chin,  the  droop  of  the  long,  thick  lashes  on  the  soft 
cheek,  the  fling  of  a  gesture,  the  cadence  of  her 
voice;  they  all  delighted  and  fascinated  him.  She 
was  a  living  embodiment  of  joy-in-life,  of  love  per- 
sonified. 

She  packed  her  sketches  and  her  paraphernalia 
with  businesslike  directness,  careless  of  whether  he 
did  or  did  not  see  her  water-colors.  A  movement 
of  his  hand  stayed  her  as  she  took  from  the  easel 
the  one  upon  which  she  had  been  engaged. 

It  represented  the  sun-drenched  slope  below 
them,  with  the  little  gulch  dressed  riotously  in  its 
gala  best  of  yellows. 

"You've  got  that  fine,"  he  told  her  enthusiasti- 
cally. 

She  shook  her  head,  unmoved  by  praise  which 
did  not  approve  itself  to  her  judgment  as  merited. 

"No,  I  didn't  get  it  at  all.  A  great  artist  might 
get  the  wonder  of  it;  but  I  can't." 

"It  looks  good  to  me,"  he  said. 

"Then  I'm  afraid  you're  not  a  judge,"  she  smiled. 

From  where  they  stood  a  trail  wound  along  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          37 

ridge  and  down  into  a  valley  beyond.  At  the 
farther  edge  of  this,  nestling  close  to  the  hills  that 
took  root  there,  lay  the  houses  of  a  ranch. 

"That  is  where  I  live,"  she  told  him. 

He  thought  it  a  lovely  spot,  almost  worthy  of 
her,  but  obviously  he  could  not  tell  her  so.  Instead, 
he  voiced  an  alien  thought  that  happened  to  intrude : 

"Do  you  know  Sefiorita  Valdes?  But  of  course 
you  must." 

She  flung  a  quick  glance  at  him,  questioning. 

"Yes,  I  know  her." 

"She  lives  somewhere  round  here,  too,  does  she 
not?" 

Her  arm  swept  round  in  a  comprehensive  ges- 
ture. "Over  that  way,  too." 

"Do  you  know  her  well?" 

An  odd  smile  dimpled  her  face. 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  do,  and  then  again  I  won- 
der." 

"I  have  been  told  she  is  beautiful." 

"Beauty  is  in  the  beholder's  eyes,  senor.  Valen- 
cia Valdes  is  as  Heaven  made  her." 

"I  have  no  doubt;  but  Heaven  took  more  pains 
with  some  of  us  than  others — it  appears." 

Again  the  dark  eyes  under  the  long  lashes  swept 
him  from  the  curly  head  to  the  lean,  muscular 
hands,  and  approved  silently  the  truth  of  his  ob- 


38          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

servation.  The  clean  lithe  build  of  the  man,  mus- 
cles packed  so  that  they  rippled  smoothly  like  those 
of  a  panther,  appealed  to  her  trained  eyes.  So,  too, 
did  the  quiet,  steady  eyes  in  the  bronzed  face,  hold- 
ing as  they  did  the  look  of  competent  alertness  that 
had  come  from  years  of  frontier  life. 

"You  are  interested  in  Miss  Valdes?"  she  asked 
politely. 

"In  a  way  of  speaking,  I  am.  She  is  one  of  the 
reasons  why  I  came  here." 

"Indeed!  She  would  no  doubt  be  charmed  to 
know  of  your  interest,"  still  with  polite  detachment. 

"My  interest  ain't  exactly  personal;  then  again 
it  is,"  he  contributed. 

"A  sort  of  an  impersonal  personal  interest?" 

"Yes;  though  I  don't  quite  know  what  that 
means." 

"Then  I  can't  be  expected  to,"  she  laughed. 

His  laughter  joined  hers;  but  presently  he  re- 
curred to  his  question : 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  about  Miss  Valdes.  Is 
she  as  lovely  as  they  say  she  is  ?" 

"I  don't  know  just  how  lovely  they  say  she  is. 
Sometimes  I  have  thought  her  very  passable;  then 

again "  She  broke  off  with  a  defiant  little 

laugh.  "Don't  you  know,  sir,  that  you  mustn't  ask 
one  lady  to  praise  the  beauty  of  another?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          39 

"I  suppose  I  may  ask  questions?"  he  said,  much 
amused. 

"It  depends  a  little  on  the  questions/' 

"Is  she  tall?" 

"Rather.    About  as  tall  as  I  am." 

"And  dark,  of  course,  since  she  is  a  Spanish 
senorita." 

"Yes,  she  is  dark." 

"Slim  and  graceful,  I  expect?" 

"She  is  slender." 

"I  reckon  she  banks  a  heap  on  that  blue  blood 
of  hers?" 

"Yes;  she  is  prouder  of  it  than  there  is  really  any 
need  of,  though  I  think  probably  her  pride  is  un- 
conscious and  a  matter  of  habit." 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  make  out  yet  whether  you 
like  her,"  he  laughed. 

"I  don't  see  what  my  liking  has  to  do  with  it." 

"I  expect  to  meet  her,  and  I  want  to  use  your 
judgment  to  base  mine  on." 

"Oh,  you  expect  to  meet  her  ?" 

She  said  it  lightly,  yet  with  a  certain  emphasis 
that  he  noted. 

"Don't  you  think  she  will  let  me?  Do  I  have  to 
show  blue  blood  before  I  can  be  presented?  One 
of  my  ancestors  came  over  on  the  Mayflower.  Will 
that  do?" 


40          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Her  raillery  met  his. 

"That  ought  to  do,  I  should  think.  I  suppose 
you  have  brought  genealogical  proofs  with  you?" 

"I  clean  forgot.  Won't  you  please  get  on  and 
ride  now  ?  I  feel  like  a  false  alarm,  playing  the  in- 
valid on  you,  ma'am." 

"No;  I'll  walk.  We're  almost  at  the  ranch.  It's 
just  under  this  hill.  But  there's  one  thing  I  want 
to  ask  of  you  as  a  favor." 

"It's  yours,"  he  replied  briefly. 

She  seemed  to  struggle  with  some  emotion  be- 
fore she  spoke: 

"Please  don't  mention  Valencia  Valdes  while  you 
are  at  the  ranch.  I — I  have  reasons,  sir." 

"Certainly;  I'll  do  as  you  prefer." 

To  himself  he  thought  that  there  was  probably  a 
feud  of  some  kind  between  the  two  families  that 
might  make  a  mention  of  the  name  unpleasant. 
"And  that  reminds  me  that  I  don't  know  what  your 
name  is.  Mine  is  Muir — Richard  Muir." 

"And  mine    is  Maria  Yuste." 

He  offered  her  his  brown  hand.  "I'm  right 
happy  to  meet  you,  Senorita  Maria." 

"Welcome  to  the  Yuste  hacienda,  senor.  What 
is  ours  is  yours,  so  long  as  you  are  our  guest.  I 
pray  you  make  yourself  at  home,"  she  said  as  they 
rode  into  the  courtyard. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          41 

Two  Mexican  lads  came  running  forward;  and 
one  whom  she  called  Pedro  took  the  horse,  while 
the  other  went  into  the  house  to  attend  to  a  quick 
-command  she  gave  in  Spanish. 

The  man  who  had  named  himself  Richard  Muir 
followed  his  hostess  through  a  hall,  across  an  open 
court,  and  into  a  living-room  carpeted  with  Navajo 
rugs,  at  the  end  of  which  was  a  great  open  fireplace 
bearing  a  Spanish  motto  across  it. 

Large  windows,  set  three  feet  deep  in  the  thick 
adobe  walls,  were  filled  with  flowers  or  padded  with 
sofa  pillows  for  seats.  One  of  these  his  hostess 
indicated  to  the  limping  man; 

"If  you  will  be  seated  here  for  the  present,  sir, 
your  room  will  be  ready  very  soon." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  fisherman  found  himself 
in  a  large  bedroom.  He  was  seated  in  an  easy- 
chair  before  a  crackling  fire  of  prnon  knots. 

A  messenger  had  been  dispatched  for  a  doctor, 
Senorita  Yuste  had  told  him,  and  in  the  meantime 
he  was  to  make  himself  quite  at  home. 


CHAPTER   IV 

AT   THE   YUSTE    HACIENDA 

The  wrench  to  the  fisherman's  knee  proved  more 
serious  than  he  had  anticipated.  The  doctor  pro- 
nounced it  out  of  the  question  that  he  should  be 
moved  for  some  days  at  least. 

The  victim  was  more  than  content,  because  he 
was  very  much  interested  in  the  young  woman  who 
had  been  his  rescuer,  and  because  it  gave  him  a 
chance  to  observe  at  first  hand  the  remains  of  the 
semi  feudal  system  that  had  once  obtained  in  New 
Mexico  and  California. 

It  was  easy  for  him  to  see  that  Senorita  Maria 
Yuste  was  still  considered  by  her  dependents  as  a 
superior  being,  one  far  removed  from  them  by  the 
divinity  of  caste  that  hedged  her  in.  They  gave 
her  service;  and  she,  on  her  part,  looked  out  for 
their  needs,  and  was  the  patron  saint  to  whom  they 
brought  all  their  troubles. 

It  was  an  indolent,  happy  life  the  peons  on  the 
estate  led,  patriarchal  in  its  nature,  and  far  re- 

42 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          43 

moved  from  the  throb  of  the  money-mad  world. 
They  had  enough  to  eat  and  to  wear.  There  was 
a  roof  over  their  heads.  There  were  girls  to  be 
loved,  dances  to  be  danced,  and  guitars  to  be 
strummed.  Wherefore,  then,  should  the  young  men 
feel  the  spur  of  an  ambition  to  take  the  world  by 
the  throat  and  wring  success  from  it  ? 

It  had  been  more  years  than  he  could  remember 
since  this  young  American  had  taken  a  real  holiday 
except  for  an  occasional  fishing  trip  on  the  Gunni- 
son  or  into  Wyoming.  He  had  lived  a  life  of  ac- 
tivity. Now  for  the  first  time  he  learned  how  to 
be  lazy.  To  dawdle  indolently  on  one  of  the  broad 
porches,  while  Miss  Yuste  sat  beside  him  and  busied 
herself  over  some  needlework,  was  a  sensuous  de- 
light that  filled  him  with  content.  He  felt  that  he 
would  like  to  bask  there  in  the  warm  sunshine  for- 
ever. After  all,  why  should  he  pursue  wealth  and 
success  when  love  and  laughter  waited  for  him  in 
this  peaceful  valley  chosen  of  the  gods? 

The  fourth  morning  of  his  arrival  he  hobbled 
out  to  the  south  porch  after  breakfast,  to  find  his 
hostess  in  corduroy  skirt,  high  laced  boots,  and 
pinched-in  sombrero.  She  was  drawing  on  a  pair 
of  driving  gauntlets.  One  of  the  stable  boys  was 
standing  beside  a  rig  he  had  just  driven  to  the 
house. 


44          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  young  woman  flung  a  flashing  smile  at  her 
guest. 

"Good  day,  Senor  Muir.  I  hope  you  had  a  good 
night's  rest,  and  that  your  knee  did  not  greatly  pain 
you?" 

"I  feel  like  a  colt  in  the  pasture — fit  for  anything. 
But  the  doctor  won't  have  it  that  way.  He  says  I'm 
an  invalid,"  returned  the  young  man  whimsically. 

"The  doctor  ought  to  know,"  she  laughed. 

"I  expect  it  won't  do  me  any  harm  to  lie  still  for 
a  day  or  two.  We  Americans  all  have  the  git-up- 
and-dust  habit.  We  got  to  keep  going,  though 
Heaven  knows  what  we're  going  for  sometimes." 

Though  he  did  not  know  it,  her  interest  in  him 
was  considerable,  though  certainly  critical.  He  was 
a  type  outside  of  her  experience,  and,  by  the  law 
of  opposites,  attracted  her.  Every  line  of  him 
showed  tremendous  driving  power,  force,  energy. 
He  was  not  without  some  touch  of  Western  swag- 
ger; but  it  went  well  with  the  air  of  youth  to  which 
his  boyish  laugh  and  wavy,  sun-reddened  hair  con- 
tributed. 

The  men  of  her  station  that  she  knew  were  of 
one  pattern,  indolent,  well-bred  aristocrats,  despis- 
ers  of  trade  and  of  those  who  indulged  in  it  more 
than  was  necessary  to  live.  But  her  mother  had 
been  an  American  girl,  and  there  was  in  her  blood 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          45 

a  strong  impulse  toward  the  great  nation  of  which 
her  father's  people  were  not  yet  in  spirit  entirely  a 
part. 

"I  have  to  drive  to  Antelope  Springs  this  morn- 
ing. It  is  not  a  rough  trip  at  all.  If  you  would  care 
to  see  the  country " 

She  paused,  a  question  in  her  face.  Her  guest 
jumped  at  the  chance. 

"There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better.  If  you  are 
sure  it  will  be  no  inconvenience." 

"I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  asked  you  if  I  had 
not  wanted  you,"  she  said;  and  he  took  it  as  a  re- 
proof. 

She  drove  a  pair  of  grays  that  took  the  road  with 
the  spirit  of  racers.  The  young  woman  sat  erect 
and  handled  the  reins  masterfully,  the  while  Muir 
leaned  back  and  admired  the  steadiness  of  the  slim, 
strong  wrists,  the  businesslike  directness  with  which 
she  gave  herself  to  her  work,  the  glow  of  life 
whipped  into  her  eyes  and  cheeks  by  the  exhilara- 
tion of  the  pace. 

"I  suppose  you  know  all  about  these  old  land- 
grants  that  were  made  when  New  Mexico  was  a 
Spanish  colony  and  later  when  it  was  a  part  of 
Mexico,"  he  suggested. 

Her  dark  eyes  rested  gravely  on  him  an  instant 


46          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

before  she  answered:  "Most  of  -us  that  were 
brought  up  on  them  know  something  of  the  facts." 

"You  are  familiar  with  the  Valdes  grant?" 

"Yes." 

"And  with  the  Moreno  grant,  made  by  Governor 
Armijo?" 

"Yes." 

"The  claims  conflict,  do  they  not  ?" 

"The  Moreno  grant  is  taken  right  from  the  heart 
of  the  Valdes  grant.  It  includes  all  the  springs,  the 
valleys,  the  irrigable  land;  takes  in  everything  but 
the  hilly  pasture  land  in  the  mountains,  which,  in 
itself,  is  valueless." 

"The  land  included  in  this  grant  is  of  great 
value?" 

"It  pastures  at  the  present  time  fifty  thousand 
sheep  and  about  twelve  thousand  head  of  cattle." 

"Owned  by  Miss  Valdes?" 

"Owned  by  her  and  her  tenants." 

"She's  what  you  call  a  cattle  queen,  then.  Lit- 
erally, the  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills  are  hers." 

"As  they  were  her  father's  and  her  grandfather's 
before  her,  to  be  held  in  trust  for  the  benefit  of 
about  eight  hundred  tenants,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"Tell  me  more  about  it.  The  original  grantee 
was  Don  Bartolome  de  Valdes,  was  he  not?" 

"Yes.    He  was  the  great-great-grandson  of  Don 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          47 

Alvaro  de  Valdes  y  Castillo,  who  lost  his  head  be- 
cause he  was  a  braver  and  a  better  man  than  the 
king.  Don  Bartolome,  too,  was  a  great  soldier  and 
ruler.  He  was  generous  and  public-spirited  to  a 
fault ;  and  when  the  people  of  this  province  suffered 
from  Indian  raids  he  distributed  thousands  of  sheep 
to  relieve  their  distress." 

"Bully  for  the  old  boy.  He  was  a  real  philan- 
thropist." 

"Not  at  all.  He  had  to  do  it.  His  position  re- 
quired it  of  him." 

"That  was  it,  eh?" 

Her  dusky  eyes  questioned  him. 

"You  couldn't  understand,  I  suppose,  since  you 
are  an  American,  how  he  was  the  father  and  friend 
of  all  the  people  in  these  parts ;  how  his  troopers  and 
vaqueros  were  a  defense  to  the  whole  province?" 

"I  think  I  can  understand  that." 

"So  it  was,  even  to  his  death,  that  he  looked  out 
for  the  poor  peons  dependent  upon  him.  His  herds 
grew  mighty;  and  he  asked  of  Facundo  Megares, 
governor  of  the  royal  province,  a  grant  of  land  upon 
which  to  pasture  them.  These  herds  were  for  his 
people ;  but  they  were  in  his  name  and  belonged  to 
him.  Why  should  he  not  have  been  given  land  for 
them,  since  his  was  the  sword  that  had  won  the 
land  against  the  Apaches?" 


48          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"You  ain't  heard  me  say  he  shouldn't  have  had 
it." 

"So  the  alcalde  executed  the  act  of  possession  for 
a  tract,  to  be  bounded  on  the  south  by  Crow  Spring, 
following  its  cordillera  to  the  Ojo  del  Chico,  east 
to  the  Pedornal  range,  north  to  the  Ojo  del  Cibolo 
— Buffalo  Springs — and  west  to  the  great  divide. 
It  was  a  princely  estate,  greater  than  the  State  of 
Delaware ;  and  Don  Bartolome  held  it  for  the  King 
of  Spain,  and  ruled  over  it  with  powers  of  life  and 
death,  but  always  wisely  and  generously,  like  the 
great-hearted  gentleman  he  was." 

"Bully  for  him." 

"And  at  his  death  his  son  ruled  in  his  stead ;  and 
his  only  son  died  in  the  Spanish-American  War,  as 
a  lieutenant  of  volunteers  in  the  United  States 
Army.  He  was  shot  before  Santiago." 

The  voice  died  away  in  her  tremulous  throat ;  and 
he  wondered  if  it  could  be  possible  that  this  girl 
had  been  betrothed  to  the  young  soldier.  But  pres- 
ently she  spoke  again,  cheerfully  and  lightly : 

"Wherefore,  it  happens  that  there  remains  only 
a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Valdes  to  carry  the  bur- 
den that  should  have  been  her  brother's,  to  look  out 
for  his  people,  and  to  protect  them  both  against 
themselves  and  others.  She  may  fail;  but,  if  I 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          49 

know  her,  the  failure  will  not  be  because  she  has  not 
tried." 

"Good  for  her.  I'd  like  to  shake  her  aristocratic 
little  paw  and  tell  her  to  buck  in  and  win." 

"She  would  no  doubt  be  grateful  for  your  sym- 
pathy/' the  young  woman  answered,  flinging  a 
queer  little  look  of  irony  at  him. 

"But  what's  the  hitch  about  the  Valdes  grant? 
Why  is  there  a  doubt  of  its  legality?" 

She  smiled  gaily  at  him. 

"No  person  who  desires  to  remain  healthy  has 
any  doubts  in  this  neighborhood.  We  are  all  par- 
tizans  of  Valencia  Valdes ;  and  many  of  her  tenants 
are  such  warm  followers  that  they  would  not  think 
twice  about  shedding  blood  in  defense  of  her  title. 
You  must  remember  that  they  hold  through  her 
right.  If  she  were  dispossessed  so  would  they  be." 

"Is  that  a  threat?  I  mean,  would  it  be  if  I  were 
a  claimant?"  he  asked,  meeting  her  smile  pleas- 
antly. 

"Oh,  no.  Miss  Valdes  would  regret  any  trouble, 
and  so  should  I."  A  shadow  crossed  her  face  as 
she  spoke.  "But  she  could  not  prevent  her  friends 
from  violence,  I  am  afraid.  You  see,  she  is  only  a 
girl,  after  all.  They  would  move  without  her 
knowledge.  I  know  they  would." 


50          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"How  would  they  move?  Would  it  be  a  knife 
in  the  dark?" 

His  gray  eyes,  which  had  been  warm  as  summer 
sunshine  on  a  hill,  were  now  fixed  on  her  with  chill 
inscrutability. 

"I  don't  know.  It  might  be  that.  Very  likely." 
He  saw  the  pulse  in  her  throat  beating  fast  as  she 
hesitated  before  she  plunged  on.  "A  warning  is 
not  a  threat.  If  you  know  this  Sefior  Gordon,  tell 
him  to  sell  whatever  claim  he  has.  Tell  him,  at 
least,  to  fight  from  a  distance;  not  to  come  to  this 
valley  himself.  Else  his  life  would  be  at  hazard." 

"If  he  is  a  man  that  will  not  keep  him  away.  He 
will  fight  for  what  is  his  all  the  more  because  there 
is  danger.  What's  more,  he'll  do  his  fighting  on  the 
ground — unless  he's  a  quitter." 

She  sighed. 

"I  was  afraid  so." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  the  alleged  defect 
in  the  Valdes  claim.  There  must  be  some  point  of 
law  upon  which  the  thing  hangs." 

"It  is  claimed  that  Don  Bartolome  did  not  take 
up  his  actual  residence  on  the  grant,  as  the  law  re- 
quired. Then,  too,  he  himself  was  later  governor 
of  the  province,  and  while' he  was  president  of  the 
Ayuntamiento  at  Tome  he  officially  indorsed  some 
small  grants  of  land  made  from  this  estate.  He  did 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          51 

this  because  he  wanted  the  country  developed,  and 
was  willing  to  give  part  of  what  he  had  to  his  neigh- 
bors; but  I  suppose  the  contestant  will  claim  this 
showed  he  had  abandoned  his  grant." 

"I  see.  Title  not  perfected,"  he  summed  up 
briefly. 

"We  deny  it,  of  course — I  mean,  Miss  Valdes 
does.  She  shows  that  in  his  will  the  old  don  men- 
tions it,  and  that  her  father  lived  there  without  in- 
terruption, even  though  Manuel  Armijo  later 
granted  the  best  of  it  to  Jose  Moreno." 

"It  would  be  pretty  tough  for  her  to  be  fired  out 
now.  I  reckon  she's  attached  to  the  place,  her  and 
her  folks  having  lived  there  so  long,"  the  young 
man  mused  aloud. 

"Her  whole  life  is  wrapped  up  in  it.  It  is  the 
home  of  her  people.  She  belongs  to  it,  and  it  to: 
her,"  the  girl  answered. 

"Mebbe  this  Gordon  is  a  white  man.  I  reckon 
he  wouldn't  drive  her  out.  Like  as  not  he'd  fix  up 
a  compromise.  There's  enough  for  both." 

She  shook  her  head  decisively. 

"No.  It  would  have  to  be  a  money  settlement. 
Miss  Valdes's  people  are  settled  all  over  the  estate. 
Some  of  them  have  bought  small  ranches.  You 
see,  she  couldn't — throw  them  down — as  you  Amer- 
icans say." 


52          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"That's  right,"  he  agreed.  "Well,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  but  it  can  be  fixed  up  some  way." 

They  had  been  driving  across  a  flat  cactus  coun- 
try, and  for  some  time  had  been  approaching  the 
grove  of  willows  into  which  she  now  turned.  Some 
wooden  barns,  a  corral,  an  adobe  house,  and  out- 
houses marked  the  place  as  one  of  the  more  am- 
bitious ranches  of  the  valley. 

An  old  Mexican  came  forward  with  a  face 
wreathed  in  smiles. 

"Buenos,  Dona  Maria,"  he  cried,  in  greeting. 

"Buenos,  Antonio.  This  gentleman  is  Mr.  Rich- 
ard Muir." 

"Buenos,  senor.  A  friend  of  Dona  Maria  is  a 
friend  of  Antonio." 

"The  older  people  call  me  'dona' "  the  girl  ex- 
plained. "I  suppose  they  think  it  strange  a  girl 
should  have  to  do  with  affairs,  and  so  they  think  of 
me  as  'dona'  instead  of  'senorita,'  to  satisfy  them- 
selves." 

A  vague  suspicion,  that  had  been  born  in  the 
young  man's  mind  immediately  after  his  rescue 
from  the  river  now  recurred. 

His  first  thought  then  had  been  that  this  young 
woman  must  be  Valencia  Valdes;  but  he  had  dis- 
missed it  when  he  had  seen  the  initial  M  on  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          53 

kerchief,  and  when  she  had  subsequently  left  him 
to  infer  that  such  was  not  the  case. 

He  remembered  now  in  what  respect  she  was 
held  in  the  home  hacienda;  how  everybody  they  had 
met  had  greeted  her  with  almost  reverence.  It  was 
not  likely  that  two  young  heiresses,  both  of  them 
beautiful  orphans,  should  be  living  within  a  few 
miles  of  each  other. 

Besides,  he  remembered  that  this  very  Antelope 
Springs  was  mentioned  in  the  deed  of  conveyance 
which  he  had  lately  examined  before  leaving  the 
mining  camp.  She  was  giving  orders  about  irrigat- 
ing ditches  as  if  she  were  owner. 

It  followed  then  that  she  must  be  Valencia  Val- 
des.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it. 

He  watched  her  as  she  talked  to  old  Antonio  and 
gave  the  necessary  directions.  How  radiant  and 
happy  she  was  in  this  life  which  had  fallen  to  her 
by  inheritance!  He  vowed  she  should  not  be  dis- 
inherited through  any  action  of  his.  He  owed  her 
his  life.  At  least,  he  could  spare  her  this  blow. 

They  drove  home  more  silently  than  they  had 
come.  He  was  thinking  over  the  best  way  to  do 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  The  evening  before  they 
had  sat  together  in  front  of  the  fire  in  the  living- 
room,  while  her  old  duenna  had  nodded  in  a  big 


54  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

arm-chair.  So  they  would  sit  to-night  and  to-mor- 
row night. 

He  would  send  at  once  for  the  papers  upon  which 
his  claim  depended,  and  he  would  burn  them  before 
her  eyes.  After  that  they  would  be  friends — and,  in 
the  end,  much  more  than  friends. 

He  was  still  dreaming  his  air-castle,  when  they 
drove  through  the  gate  that  led  to  her  home.  In 
front  of  the  porch  a  saddled  bronco  trailed  its  rein, 
and  near  by  stood  a  young  man  in  riding-breeches 
and  spurs.  He  turned  at  the  sound  of  wheels ;  and 
the  man  in  the  buggy  saw  that  it  was  Manuel  Pes- 
quiera. 

The  Spaniard  started  when  he  recognized  the 
other,  and  his  eyes  grew  bright.  He  moved  for- 
ward to  assist  the  young  woman  in  alighting;  but, 
in  spite  of  his  bad  knee,  the  Coloradoan  was  out  of 
the  rig  and  before  him. 

"Buenos,  amigo,"  she  nodded  to  Don  Manuel, 
lightly  releasing  the  hand  of  Muir. 

"Buenos,  senorita,"  returned  that  young  man.  "I 
behold  you  are  already  acquaint'  with  Mr.  Richard 
Gordon,  whose  arrival  is  to  me  very  unexpect'." 

She  seemed  to  grow  tall  before  her  guest's  eyes; 
to  stand  in  a  kind  of  proud  splendor  that  had 
eclipsed  her  girlish  slimness.  The  dark  eyes  under 
the  thick  lashes  looked  long  and  searchingly  at  him. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          55 

"Mr.  Richard  Gordon?  I  understand  this  gen- 
tleman's name  to  be  Muir,"  she  made  voice  gently. 

Dick  laughed  with  a  touch  of  shame.  Now  once 
in  his  life  he  wished  he  could  prove  an  alibi.  For, 
under  the  calm  judgment  of  that  steady  gaze,  the 
thing  he  had  done  seemed  scarce  defensible. 

"Don  Manuel  has  it  right,  scnorita.  Gordon  is 
my  name;  Muir,  too,  for  that  matter.  Richard 
Muir  Gordon  is  what  I  was  christened." 

The  underlying  red  of  her  cheeks  had  fled  and 
left  them  clear  olive.  One  might  have  thought  the 
scornful  eyes  had  absorbed  all  the  fire  of  her  face. 

"So  you  have  lied  to  me,  sir?" 

"Let  me  lay  the  facts  before  you,  first.  That's  a 
hard  word,  senorita" 

"You  gave  your  name  to  me  as  Muir.  You  im- 
posed yourself  on  my  hospitality  under  false  pre- 
tenses. You  are  only  a  spy,  come  to  my  house  to 
mole  for  evidence  against  me." 

"No — no!"  he  cried  sharply.  "You  will  remem- 
ber that  I  did  not  want  to  come.  I  foresaw  that  it 
might  be  awkward,  but  I  did  not  foresee  this." 

"That  you  would  be  found  out  before  you  had 
won  your  end?  I  believe  you,  sir,"  she  retorted 
contemptuously. 

"I  see  I'm  condemned  before  I'm  heard." 

"Will  any  explanation  alter  the  facts?    Are  you 


56          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

not  a  liar  and  a  cheat  ?  You  gave  me  a  false  name 
to  spy  out  the  land." 

"Am  I  the  only  one  that  gave  a  wrong  name?" 
he  asked. 

"That  is  different,"  she  flamed.  "You  had  made 
a  mistake  and,  half  in  sport,  I  encouraged  you  in  it. 
But  you  seem  to  have  found  out  my  real  name  since. 
Yet  you  still  accepted  what  I  had  to  offer,  under  a 
false  name,  under  false  pretenses.  You  questioned 
me  about  the  grants.  You  have  lived  a  lie  from 
first  to  last." 

"It  ain't  as  bad  as  you  say,  ma'am.  Don  Manuel 
had  told  me  it  wasn't  safe  to  come  here  in  my  own 
name.  I  didn't  care  about  the  safety,  but  I  wanted 
to  see  the  situation  exactly  as  it  was.  I  didn't 
know  who  you  were  when  I  came  here.  I  took  you 
to  be  Miss  Maria  Yuste.  I " 

"My  name  is  Maria  Yuste  Valencia  Valdes,"  the 
young  woman  explained  proudly.  "When,  may  I 
ask,  did  you  discover  who  I  was  ?" 

"I  guessed  it  at  Antelope  Springs." 

"Then  why  did  you  not  tell  me  then  who  you  are  ? 
Surely  that  was  the  time  to  tell  me.  My  deception 
did  you  no  harm ;  yours  was  one  no  man  of  honor 
could  have  endured  after  he  knew  who  I  was." 

"I  didn't  aim  to  keep  it  up  very  long.  I  meant, 
in  a  day  or  two " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          57 

"A  day  or  two,"  she  cried,  in  a  blaze  of  scorn. 
"After  you  had  found  out  all  I  had  to  tell ;  after  you 
had  got  evidence  to  back  your  robber-claim;  after 
'you  had  made  me  breathe  the  same  air  so  long  with 
a  spy  ?" 

Her  face  was  very  white;  but  she  faced  him  in 
her  erect  slimness,  with  her  dark  eyes  fixed  steadily 
on  him. 

"You  ain't  quite  fair  to  me ;  but  let  that  pass  for 
the  present.  When  I  asked  you  about  the  grants 
didn't  you  guess  who  I  was  ?  Play  square  with  me. 
Didn't  you  have  a  notion  ?" 

A  flood  of  spreading  color  swept  back  into  her 
face. 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  thought  perhaps  you  were  an 
agent  of  the  claimant;  but  I  didn't  know  you  were 
passing  under  a  false  name,  that  you  were  aware 
in  whose  house  you  were  staying.  I  thought  you  an 
honest  man,  on  the  wrong  side — nothing  so  con- 
temptible as  a  spy." 

"That  idea's  fixed  in  your  mind,  is  it?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

"Beyond  any  power  of  yours  to  remove  it," 
she  flashed  back. 

"The  facts,  Senor  Gordon,  speak  loud,"  put  in 
Pesquiera  derisively. 

Dick  Gordon  paid  not  the  least  attention  to  him. 


58  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

His  gaze  was  fastened  on  the  girl  whose  contempt 
was  lashing  him. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Valdes.  We'll  let  it  go  at  that 
just  now.  All  I've  got  to  say  is  that  some  day 
you'll  hate  yourself  for  what  you  have  just  said." 

Neither  of  them  had  raised  their  voices  from 
first  to  last.  Hers  had  been  low  and  intense,  pulsing 
with  the  passion  that  would  out.  His  had  held  its 
even  way. 

"I  hate  myself  now,  that  I  have  had  you  here  so 
long,  that  I  have  been  the  dupe  of  a  common  cheat." 

"All  right.  'Nough  said,  ma'am.  More  would 
certainly  be  surplusage.  I'll  not  trouble  you  any 
longer  now.  But  I  want  you  to  remember  that 
there's  a  day  coming  when  you'll  travel  a  long  way 
to  take  back  all  of  what  you've  just  been  saying. 
I  want  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  me. 
I'm  always  at  your  service  for  what  you  did  for  me. 
Good-bye,  Miss  Valdes,  for  the  present." 

"I  am  of  impression,  sir,  that  you  go  not  too 
soon,"  said  Pesquiera  suavely. 

Miss  Valdes  turned  on  her  heel  and  swept  up  the 
steps  of  the  porch ;  but  she  stopped  an  instant  before 
she  entered  the  house  to  say  over  her  shoulder : 

"A  buggy  will  be  at  your  disposal  to  take  you  to 
Corbett's.  If  it  is  convenient,  I  should  like  to  have 
you  go  to-night." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          59 

He  smiled  ironically. 

"I'll  not  trouble  you  for  the  buggy,  senorita.  If 
I'm  all  you  say  I  am,  likely  I'm  a  horse  thief,  too. 
Anyhow,  we  won't  risk  it.  Walking's  good  enough 
for  me." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  she  choked,  and  forthwith 
disappeared  into  the  house. 

Gordon  turned  from  gazing  after  her  to  find  the 
little  Spaniard  bowing  before  him. 

"Consider  me  at  your  service,  Mr.  Gordon " 

"Can't  use  you,"  cut  in  Dick  curtly. 

"I  was  remarking  that,  as  her  kinsman,  I,  Don 
Manuel  Pesquiera,  •  stand  prepared  to  make  good 
her  words.  What  the  Senorita  Valdes  says,  I  say, 
too." 

"Then  don't  say  it  aloud,  you  little  monkey,  or  I'll 
throw  you  over  the  house,"  Dick  promised  immedi- 
ately. 

Don  Manuel  clicked  his  heels  together  and 
twirled  his  black  mustache. 

"I  offer  you,  sir,  the  remedy  of  a  gentleman. 
You,  sir,  shall  choose  the  weapons." 

The  Anglo-Saxon  laughed  in  his  face. 

"Good.  Let  it  be  toasting-forks,  at  twenty 
paces." 

The  challenger  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  five 
feet  six. 


60  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"You  choose  to  be  what  you  call  droll.  Sir,  I 
give  you  the  word,  poltroon — lache — coward." 

"Oh,  go  chase  yourself." 

One  of  Pesquiera's  little  gloved  hands  struck  the 
other's  face  with  a  resounding  slap.  Next  instant 
he  was  lifted  from  his  feet  and  tucked  under  Dick's 
arm. 

There  he  remained,  kicking  and  struggling,  in  a 
manner  most  undignified  for  a  blue  blood  of  Castile, 
while  the  Coloradoan  stepped  leisurely  forward  to 
the  irrigating  ditch  which  supplied  water  for  the 
garden  and  the  field  of  grain  behind.  This  was 
now  about  two  feet  deep,  and  running  strong.  In 
it  was  deposited,  at  full  length,  the  dapper  little 
person  of  Don  Manuel  Pesquiera,  after  which  Dick 
Gordon  turned  and  went  limping  down  the  road. 

From  the  shutters  of  her  room  a  girl  had  looked 
down  and  seen  it  all.  She  saw  Don  Manuel  rescue 
himself  from  the  ditch,  all  dripping  with  water. 
She  saw  him  gesticulating  wildly,  as  he  cursed  the 
retreating  foe,  before  betaking  himself  hurriedly 
from  view  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  probably  to  dry 
himself  and  nurse  his  rage  the  while.  She  saw 
Gordon  go  on  his  limping  way  without  a  single 
backward  glance. 

Then  she  flung  herself  on  her  bed  and  burst  into 
tears. 


CHAPTER   V 
"AN  OPTIMISTIC  GUY" 

Dick  Gordon  hobbled  up  the  road,  quite  unaware 
for  some  time  that  he  had  a  ricked  knee.  His 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  finale  that  had  just 
been  enacted.  He  could  not  keep  from  laughing 
ruefully  at  the  difference  between  it  and  the  one 
of  his  day-dreams.  He  was  too  much  of  a  West- 
erner not  to  see  the  humor  of  the  comedy  in  which 
he  had  been  forced  to  take  a  leading  part,  but  he 
had  insight  enough  to  divine  that  it  was  much  more 
likely  to  prove  melodrama  than  farce. 

Don  Manuel  was  not  the  man  to  sit  down  under 
such  an  insult  as  he  had  endured,  even  though  he 
had  brought  it  upon  himself.  It  would  too  surely 
be  noised  round  that  the  Americano  was  the  claim- 
ant to  the  estate,  in  which  event  he  was  very  likely 
to  play  the  part  of  a  sheath  for  restless  stilettos. 

This  did  not  trouble  him  as  much  as  it  would 
have  done  some  men.  The  real  sting  of  the  episode 
lay  in  Valencia  ValdeY  attitude  toward  him.  He 

61 


62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

had  been  kicked  out  for  his  unworthiness.  He  had 
been  cast  aside  as  a  spy  and  a  sneak. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  felt  his  clumsiness 
deserved  no  less  an  issue  to  the  adventure.  Con- 
found that  little  Don  Manuel  for  bobbing  up  at 
such  an  inconvenient  time !  It  was  fierce  luck. 

He  stopped  his  tramp  up  the  hill,  and  looked  back 
over  the  valley.  Legally  it  was  all  his.  So  his  Den- 
ver lawyers  had  told  him,  after  looking  the  case 
over  carefully.  The  courts  would  decide  for  him 
in  all  probability;  morally  he  had  not  the  shadow 
of  a  claim.  The  valley  in  justice  belonged  to  those 
who  had  settled  in  it  and  were  using  it  for  their 
needs.  His  claim  was  merely  a  paper  one.  It  had 
not  a  scintilla  of  natural  justice  back  of  it. 

He  resumed  his  journey.  By  this  time  his  knee 
was  sending  telegrams  of  pain  to  headquarters.  He 
cut  an  aspen  by  the  roadside  and  trimmed  it  to  a 
walking-stick  and,  as  he  went  forward,  leaned  more 
and  more  heavily  upon  it. 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  game  leg  for  fair  if  I  don't 
look  out,"  he  told  himself  ruefully.  "This  right 
pin  surely  ain't  good  for  a  twelve-mile  tramp." 

It  was  during  one  of  his  frequent  stops  to  rest 
that  a  buggy  appeared  round  the  turn  from  the  same 
direction  he  had  come.  It  drew  to  a  halt  in  front 
of  him,  and  the  lad  who  was  driving  got  out. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          63 

"Sefiorita  Maria  sends  a  carriage  for  Senor  Gor- 
don to  take  him  to  Corbett's,"  he  said. 

Dick  was  on  hand  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"Tell  the  senorita  that  Mr.  Gordon  regrets  hav- 
ing put  her  to  so  much  trouble,  but  that  he  needs  the 
exercise  and  prefers  to  walk." 

"The  senorita  said  I  was  to  insist,  senor." 

"Tell  your  mistress  that  I'm  very  much  obliged 
to  her,  but  have  made  other  arrangements.  Explain 
to  her  I  appreciate  the  offer  just  the  same." 

The  lad  hesitated,  and  Dick  pushed  him  into  de- 
cision. 

"That's  all  right,  Juan — Jose — Pedro — Francisco 
— whatever  your  name  is.  You've  done  your  level- 
est.  Now,  hike  back  to  the  ranch.  Vamos!  Sabe." 

"Si,  senor." 

Dick  heard  the  wheels  disappear  in  the  distance, 
and  laughed  aloud. 

"That  young  woman's  conscience  is  hurting  her. 
I  reckon  this  tramp  to  Corbett's  is  going  to  worry 
her  tender  heart  about  as  much  as  it  does  me,  and 
I've  got  to  sweat  blood  before  I  get  through  with 
it.  Here  goes  again,  Dicky." 

Every  step  sent  a  pain  shooting  through  him,  but 
he  was  the  last  man  to  give  up  on  that  account  what 
he  had  undertaken. 

"She  let  me  go  without  any  lunch,"  he  chuckled. 


64          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I'll  bet  that  troubles  her  some,  too,  when  she  re- 
members. She's  got  me  out  of  the  house,  but  I'll 
bet  the  last  strike  in  the  Nancy  K.  against  a  dollar 
Mex  that  she  ain't  got  me  out  of  her  mind  by  a 
heap." 

A  buggy  appeared  in  sight  driven  by  a  stout,  red- 
faced  old  man.  Evidently  he  was  on  his  way  to 
the  ranch. 

"Who,  hello,  Doctor !  I'm  plumb  glad  to  see  you ; 
couldn't  wait  till  you  came,  and  had  just  to  start  out 
to  meet  you,"  cried  Dick. 

He  stood  laughing  at  the  amazement  in  the  face 
of  the  doctor,  who  was  in  two  minds  whether  to  get 
angry  or  not. 

"Doggone  your  hide,  what  are  you  doing  here? 
Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  walk  more  than  a  few 
steps?"  that  gentleman  protested. 

"But  you  didn't  leave  me  a  motor-car  and,  my 
visit  being  at  an  end,  I  ce'tainly  had  to  get  back  to 
Corbett's."  As  he  spoke  he  climbed  slowly  into  the 
rig.  "That  leg  of  mine  is  acting  like  sixty,  Doctor. 
When  you  happened  along  I  was  wondering  how 
in  time  I  was  ever  going  to  make  it." 

"You  may  have  lamed  yourself  for  life.  It's  the 
most  idiotic  thing  I  ever  heard  of.  I  don't  see  why 
Miss  Valdes  let  you  come.  Dad  blame  it,  have  I 
got  to  watch  my  patients  like  a  hen  does  its  chicks  ? 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          65 

Ain't  any  of  you  got  a  lick  of  sense?  Why  didn't 
she  send  a  rig  if  you  had  to  come?"  the  doctor  de- 
manded. 

"Seems  to  me  she  did  mention  a  rig,  but  I  thought 
I'd  rather  walk,"  explained  Gordon  casually, 
much  amused  at  Dr.  Watson's  chagrined  wonder. 

"Walk!"  snorted  the  physician.  "You'll  not 
walk,  but  be  carried  into  an  operating-room  if 
you're  not  precious  lucky.  You  deserve  to  lose  that 
leg,  and  I  don't  say  you  won't." 

"I'm  an  optimistic  guy,  Doctor.  I'll  say  it  for 
you.  I  ain't  got  any  legs  to  spare." 

"Huh!  Some  people  haven't  got  the  sense  of  a 
chicken  with  its  head  cut  off." 

"Now  you're  shouting.  Go  for  me,  Doc.  Then, 
mebbe,  I'll  do  better  next  time." 

The  doctor  gave  up  this  incorrigible  patient  and 
relapsed  into  silence,  from  which  he  came  occasion- 
ally with  an  explosive  "Huh!"  Once  he  broke  out 
with :  "Didn't  she  feed  you  well  enough,  or  was  it 
just  that  you  didn't  know  when  you  were  well  off?" 

For  he  was  aware  that  his  patient's  fever  was 
rising  and,  like  a  good  practitioner,  he  fumed  at 
such  useless  relapse. 

The  knee  had  been  doing  fine.  Now  there  would 
be  the  devil  to  pay  with  it.  The  utter  senselessness 
of  the  proceeding  irritated  Watson.  What  in  Mex- 


66          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

ico  had  got  into  the  young  idiot  to  make  him  do 
such  a  fool  thing?  The  doctor  guessed  at  a  quarrel 
between  him  and  Miss  Valdes.  But  the  close- 
mouthed  American  gave  him  no  grounds  upon 
which  to  base  his  suspicion. 

The  first  thing  that  Dick  did  after  reaching  Cor- 
bett's  was  to  send  two  telegrams.  One  was  ad- 
dressed to  Messrs.  Hughes  &  Willets,  411-417  Equi- 
table Building,  Denver,  Colorado;  the  other  went 
to  Stephen  Davis,  Cripple  Creek,  of  the  same  state. 

Doctor  Watson  hustled  his  patient  to  bed  and 
did  his  best  to  relieve  the  increasing  pain  in  the 
swollen  knee.  He  swore  gently  and  sputtered  and 
fumed  as  he  worked,  restraining  himself  only  when 
Mrs.  Corbett  came  into  the  room  with  hot  water, 
towels,  compresses,  and  other  supplies. 

"What  about  a  nurse?"  Watson  wanted  to  know 
of  Mrs.  Corbett,  a  large  motherly  woman  whose 
kind  heart  always  found  room  in  it  for  the  weak 
and  helpless. 

"I  got  no  room  for  one.  Juanita  and  I  will  take 
care  of  him.  The  work's  slack  now.  We'll  have 
time." 

"He's  going  to  take  a  heap  of  nursing,"  the  doc- 
tor answered,  rubbing  his  unshaven  chin  dubiously 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "See  how  the  fever's 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          67 

climbed  up  even  in  the  last  half  hour.  That  boy's 
going  to  be  a  mighty  sick  hombre." 

"I'm  used  to  nursing,  and  Juanita  is  the  best  help 
I  ever  had,  if  she  is  a  Mexican.  You  may  trust 
him  to  us." 

"Hmp!  I  wasn't  thinking  of  him,  but  of  you. 
Couldn't  be  in  better  hands,  but  it's  an  imposition 
for  him  to  go  racing  all  over  these  hills  with  a 
game  leg  and  expect  you  to  pull  him  through." 

Before  midnight  Dick  was  in  a  raging  fever.  In 
delirium  he  tossed  from  side  to  side,  sometimes 
silent  for  long  stretches,  then  babbling  fragments 
of  forgotten  scenes  rescued  by  his  memory  auto- 
matically from  the  wild  and  picturesque  past  of  the 
man.  Now  he  fancied  himself  again  a  schoolboy, 
now  a  ranger  in  Arizona,  now  mushing  on  the  snow 
trails  of  Alaska.  At  times  he  would  imagine  that 
he  was  defending  his  mine  against  attacking  strik- 
ers, or  that  he  was  combing  the  Rincons  for  horse 
thieves.  Out  of  his  turbid  past  flared  for  an  in- 
stant dramatic  moments  of  comedy  or  tragedy. 
These  passed  like  the  scenes  of  a  motion-picture 
story,  giving  place  to  something  else. 

In  the  end  he  came  back  always  to  the  adventure 
he  was  still  living. 

"You're  a  spy.  .  .  .  You're  a  liar  and  a  cheat. 
.  .  .  You  imposed  yourself  upon  my  hospitality 


68          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

under  false  pretenses.  ...  I  hate  myself  for 
breathing  the  same  air  as  you."  He  would  break 
off  to  laugh  foolishly,  in  a  high-pitched  note  of  de- 
rision at  himself.  "Stand  up,  Dick  Gordon,  and 
hear  the  lady  tell  you  what  a  coyote  you  are.  Stan' 
up  and  face  the  music,  you  quitter.  Liar  .  .  .  spy 
.  .  .  cheat!  That's  you,  Dick  Gordon,  un'er- 
stand?" 

Or  the  sick  mind  of  the  man  would  forget  for  the 
moment  that  they  had  quarreled.  His  tongue  would 
run  over  conversations  that  they  had  had,  cherish- 
ing and  repeating  over  and  over  again  her  gay  little 
quips  and  sallies  or  her  light  phrases. 

"Valencia  Valdes  is  as  God  made  her.  Now 
you're  throwing  sixes,  ma'am.  Sure  she's  like  that. 
The  devil  helped  a  heap  to  make  most  of  us  what 
we  are,  but  I  reckon  God  made  that  little  lady  early 
in  the  mo'ning  when  He  was  feeling  fine.  .  .  . 
Say,  I  wish  you'd  look  at  me  like  that  again  and 
light  up  with  another  of  them  dimply  smiles.  I 
got  a  surprise  for  you,  Princess  of  the  Rio  Chama. 
Honest,  I  have.  Sure  as  you're  a  foot  high.  .  .  . 
Never  you  mind  what  it  is.  Just  you  wait  a  while 
and  I'll  spring  it  when  the  time's  good  and  ready. 
I  got  to  wait  till  the  papers  come.  See?  .  .  .  Oh, 
shucks,  you're  sore  at  me  again!  Liar  .  .  .  cheat 
.  .  .  spy!  Say,  I  know  when  I've  had  a-plenty. 


_  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          69 

She  don't  like  me.    I'm  goin'  to  pull  my  freight  for 
the  Kotzebue  country  up  in  Alaska. 


the  road  to  Kotzebue,  optimistic  through  and 

through, 

We'll  hit  the  trail  together,  boy,  once  more,  jest  me 
an'  you.' 

Funny  how  women  act,  ain't  it?  Stand  up  and 
take  your  medicine  —  liar  .  .  .  cheat  .  .  .  spy! 
She  said  it,  didn't  she?  Well,  then,  it  must  be  so. 
What  you  kickin'  about  ?" 

So  he  would  run  on  until  the  fever  had  for  the 
hour  exhausted  itself  and  he  lay  still  among  the 
pillows.  Sometimes  he  talked  the  strong  language 
of  the  man  in  battle  with  other  men,  but  even  in  his 
oaths  there  was  nothing  of  vulgarity. 

Mrs.  Corbett  took  the  bulk  of  the  nursing  on  her 
own  broad  fat  shoulders,  but  during  the  day  she  was 
often  relieved  by  her  maid  while  she  got  a  few 
hours  of  sleep. 

Juanita  was  a  slim,  straight  girl  not  yet  nineteen. 
Even  before  his  sickness  Dick,  with  the  instinct  for 
deference  to  all  women  of  self-respect  that  obtains 
among  frontiersmen,  had  won  the  gratitude  of  the 
shy  creature.  There  was  something  wild  and  syl- 
van about  her  sweet  grace.  The  deep,  soft  eyes 


70          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

in  the  brown  oval  face  were  as  appealing  as  those  of 
a  doe  wounded  by  the  hunter. 

She  developed  into  a  famous  nurse.  Low-voiced 
and  soft-footed,  she  would  coax  the  delirious  man 
to  lie  down  when  he  grew  excited  or  to  take  his 
medicine  according  to  the  orders  of  the  doctor. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  Gordon's  return 
to  Corbett's  that  Juanita  heard  a  whistle  while  she 
was  washing  dishes  after  supper  in  the  kitchen. 
Presently  she  slipped  out  of  the  back  door  and  took 
the  trail  to  the  corral.  A  man  moved  forward  out 
of  the  gloom  to  meet  her. 

"Is  it  you,  Pablo?" 

A  slender  youth,  lean-flanked  and  broad-shoul- 
dered, her  visitor  turned  out  to  be.  His  outstretched 
hands  went  forward  swiftly  to  meet  hers. 

"Juanita,  light  of  my  life?"  he  cried  softly. 
"Corazon  mia!" 

She  submitted  with  a  little  reluctant  protest  to 
his  caress.  "I  have  but  a  minute,  Pablo.  The 
seiiora  wants  to  walk  over  to  Dolan's  place.  I  am 
to  stay  with  the  sick  American." 

He  exploded  with  low,  fierce  energy.  "A  thou- 
sand curses  take  the  gringo !  Why  should  you  nurse 
him?  Is  he  not  an  enemy  to  the  senorita — to  all 
in  the  valley  who  have  bought  from  her  or  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          71 

father  or  her  grandfather?  Is  he  not  here  to  throw 
us  out — a  thief,  a  spy,  a  snake  in  the  grass?*' 

"No,  he  is  not.  Senor  Gordon  is  good  .  .  .  and 
kind." 

"Bah!     You  are  but  a  girl.     He  gives  you  soft 

words — and  so "     The  jealousy  in  him  flared 

suddenly  out.  He  caught  his  sweetheart  tightly  by 
the  arm.  "Has  he  made  love  to  you,  this  gringo? 
Has  he  whispered  soft,  false  lies  in  your  ear,  Juan- 
ita?  If  he  has " 

She  tried  to  twist  free  from  him.  "You  are  hurt- 
ing my  arm,  Pablo,"  the  girl  cried. 

"It  is  my  heart  you  hurt,  nina.  Is  it  true  that  this 
thief  has  stolen  the  love  of  my  Juanita?" 

"You  are  a  fool,  Pablo.  He  has  never  said  a 
hundred  words  to  me.  All  through  his  sickness  he 
has  talked  and  talked — but  it  is  of  Senorita  Valdes 
that  he  has  raved." 

"So.  He  will  rob  her  of  all  she  has  and  yet  can 
talk  of  loving  her.  Do  you  not  see  he  is  a  villain, 
that  he  has  the  forked  tongue,  as  old  Bear  Paw,  the 
Navajo,  says  of  all  gringoes?  But  let  Senor  Gor- 
don beware.  His  time  is  short.  He  will  not  live  to 
drive  us  from  the  valley.  So  say  I.  So  say  all  the 
men  in  the  valley." 

"No — no!  I  will  not  have  it,  Pablo.  You  do 
not  know.  This  Senor  Gordon  is  good.  He  would 


72          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

not  drive  us  away."  Her  arms  slid  around  the 
neck  of  her  lover  and  she  pleaded  with  him  impetu- 
ously. "You  must  not  let  them  hurt  him,  for  it  is 
a  kind  heart  he  has." 

"Why  should  I  interfere?  He  is  only  a  gringo. 
Let  him  die.  I  tell  you  he  means  harm  to  all  of  us." 

"I  do  not  know  my  Pablo  when  he  talks  like  this. 
My  Pablo  was  always  kind  and  good  and  of  a  soft 
heart.  I  do  not  love  him  when  he  is  cruel." 

"It  is  then  that  you  love  the  American,"  he  cried. 
"Did  I  not  know  it?  Did  I  not  say  so?" 

"You  say  much  that  is  foolish,  muchacho.  The 
American  is  a  stranger  to  me  .  .  .  and  you  are 
[Pablo.  But  how  can  I  love  you  when  your  heart  is 
full  of  cruelty  and  jealousy  and  revenge?  Go  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin  and  confess  before  the  good 
priest  your  sins,  amigo." 

"Amiga!  Since  when  have  I  been  friend  to  you 
and  not  lover,  Juanita?  I  know  well  for  how  long 
— since  this  gringo  with  the  white  face  crossed  your 
trail." 

Suddenly  she  flung  away  from  him.  "Muy  bien! 
You  shall  think  as  you  please.  Adios,  my  friend 
with  the  head  of  a  donkey!  Adios f  icabron!" 

She  was  gone,  light  as  the  wind,  flying  with  swift 
feet  down  the  trail  to  the  house.  Sulkily  he  waited 
for  her  to  come  out  again,  but  the  girl  did  not  ap- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          73 

pear.  He  gave  her  a  full  half  hour  before  he  swung 
to  the  saddle  and  turned  the  head  of  his  pony  to- 
ward the  ValdeY  hacienda.  A  new  and  poignant 
bitterness  surged  in  his  heart.  Had  this  stranger, 
who  was  bringing  trouble  to  the  whole  valley,  come 
between  him  and  little  Juanita,  whom  he  had  loved 
since  they  had  been  children?  Had  he  stolen  her 
heart  with  his  devilish  wiles?  The  hard  glitter  in 
the  black  eyes  of  the  Mexican  told  that  he  would 
punish  him  if  this  were  true. 

His  younger  brother  Pedro  took  the  horse  from 
him  as  he  rode  into  the  ranch  plaza  an  hour  later. 

"You  are  to  go  to  the  senorita  at  once  and  tell 
her  how  the  gringo  is,  Pablo."  After  a  moment  he 
added  sullenly:  "Maldito,  how  is  the  son  of  a 
thief?" 

"Sick,  Pedro,  sick  unto  death.  The  devil,  as  you 
say,  may  take  him  yet  without  any  aid  from  us," 
answered  Pablo  Menendez  brusquely. 

"Why  does  the  senorita  send  you  every  day  to 
find  out  how  he  is  ?  Can  she  not  telephone  ?  And 
why  should  she  care  what  becomes  of  the  traitor?" 
demanded  Pedro  angrily. 

His  brother  shrugged.  "How  should  I  know?" 
He  had  troubles  enough  with  the  fancies  of  another 
woman  without  bothering  about  those  of  the  senor- 
ita. 


74          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Valencia  Valdes  was  on  the  porch  waiting  for 
her  messenger. 

"How  is  he,  Pablo?  Did  you  see  the  doctor  and 
talk  with  him?  What  does  he  say?" 

"Si,  senorita.  I  saw  Doctor  Watson  and  he  send 
you  this  letter.  They  say  the  American  is  a  sick 
man — oh,  very,  very  sick!" 

The  young  woman  dismissed  him  with  a  nod  and 
hurried  to  her  room.  She  read  the  letter  from  the 
doctor  and  looked  out  of  one  of  the  deep  adobe 
windows  into  the  starry  night.  It  happened  to  be 
the  same  window  from  which  she  had  last  seen  him 
go  hobbling  down  the  road.  She  rose  and  put  out 
the  light  so  that  she  could  weep  the  more  freely.  It 
was  hard  for  her  to  say  why  her  heart  was  so  heavy. 
To  herself  she  denied  that  she  cared  for  this  jaunty 
debonair  scoundrel.  He  was  no  doubt  all  she  had 
told  him  on  that  day  when  she  had  driven  him 
away. 

Yes,  but  she  had  sent  him  to  pain  and  illness 
.  .  .  perhaps  to  death.  The  tears  fell  fast  upon 
the  white  cheeks.  Surely  it  was  not  her  fault  that 
he  had  been  so  obstinate.  Yet — down  in  the  depth 
of  her  heart  she  knew  she  loved  the  courage  that 
had  carried  him  with  such  sardonic  derision  out 
upon  the  road  for  the  long  tramp  that  had  so  in- 
jured him.  And  there  was  an  inner  citadel  within 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          75 

her  that  refused  to  believe  him  the  sneaking  pup 
she  had  accused  him  of  being.  No  man  with  such 
honest  eyes,  who  stood  so  erect  and  graceful  in  the 
image  of  God,  could  be  so  contemptible  a  cur. 
There  was  something  fine  about  the  spirit  of  the 
man.  She  had  sensed  the  kinship  of  it  without  be- 
ing able  to  put  a  finger  exactly  upon  the  quality  she 
meant.  He  might  be  a  sinner,  but  it  was  hard  to 
believe  him  a  small  and  mean  one.  The  dynamic 
spark  of  self-respect  burned  too  brightly  in  his  soul 
for  that. 


CHAPTER   VI 

JUANITA 

The  fifth  day  marked  the  crisis  of  Gordon's  ill- 
ness. After  that  he  began  slowly  to  mend. 

One  morning  he  awoke  to  a  realization  that  he 
had  been  very  ill.  His  body  was  still  weak,  but  his 
mind  was  coherent  again.  A  slender  young  woman 
moved  about  the  room  setting  things  in  order. 

"Aren't  you  Juanita?"  he  asked. 

Her  heart  gave  a  leap.  This  was  the  first  time 
he  had  recognized  her.  Sometimes  in  his  delirium 
he  had  caught  at  her  hand  and  tried  to  kiss  it,  but 
always  under  the  impression  that  she  was  Miss 
Valdes. 

"Si,  senor"  she  answered  quietly. 

"I  thought  so."  He  added  after  a  moment,  with 
the  childlike  innocence  a  sick  person  has  upon  first 
coming  back  to  sanity:  "There  couldn't  be  two 
girls  as  pretty  as  you  in  this  end  of  the  valley,  could 
there?" 

Under  her  soft  brown  skin  the  color  flooded 
76 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          77 

Juanita's  face.  "I — I  don't  know."  She  spoke  in  a 
flame  of  embarrassment,  so  abrupt  had  been  his 
compliment  and  so  sincere. 

"I've  been  very  sick,  haven't  I  ?" 

She  nodded.  "Oh,  senor,  we  have  been — what 
you  call — worried." 

"Good  of  you,  Juanita.  Who  has  been  taking 
care  of  me?" 

"Mrs.  Corbett." 

"And  Juanita?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Ah !    That's  good  of  you,  too,  amiga." 

She  recalled  a  phrase  she  had  often  heard  an 
American  rancher's  daughter  say.  "I  loved  to  do 
it,  senor*' 

"But  why?  I'm  your  enemy,  you  know.  You 
ought  to  hate  me.  Do  you?" 

Once  again  the  swift  color  poured  into  the  dark 
cheeks,  even  to  the  round  birdlike  throat. 

"No,  senor." 

He  considered  this  an  instant  before  he  accused 
her  whimsically.  "Then  you're  not  a  good  girl. 
You  should  hate  the  devil,  and  I'm  his  agent.  Any 
of  your  friends  will  tell  you  that." 

"Senor  Gordon  is  a  joke." 

He  laughed  weakly.  "Am  I  ?  I'll  bet  I  am,  the 
fool  way  I  acted." 


78          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  mean  a — what  you  call — a  joker,"  she  cor- 
rected. 

"But  ain't  I  your  enemy,  my  little  good  Samari- 
tan ?  Isn't  that  what  all  your  people  are  saying  ?" 

"I  not  care  what  they  say." 

"If  I'm  not  your  enemy,  what  am  I?" 

She  made  a  great  pretense  of  filling  the  ewer  with 
water  and  gathering  up  the  soiled  towels. 

"How  about  that,  ninaf  he  persisted,  turning 
toward  her  on  the  pillow  with  his  unshaven  face  in 
his  hand,  a  gentle  quizzical  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"I'm  your  .  .  .  servant,  senor,"  she  flamed,  after 
the  embarrassment  of  silence  had  grown  too  great. 

"No,  no !  Nothing  like  that.  What  do  you  say  ? 
Will  you  take  me  for  a  friend,  even  though  I'm  an 
enemy  to  the  whole  valley  ?" 

Her  soft,  dark  eyes  flashed  to  meet  his,  timidly 
and  yet  with  an  effect  of  fine  spirit. 

"Si,  senor!" 

"Good.     Shake  hands  on  it,  little  partner." 

She  came  forward  reluctantly,  as  if  she  were 
pushed  toward  him  by  some  inner  compulsion.  Her 
shy  embarrassment,  together  with  the  sweetness  of 
the  glad  emotion  that  trembled  in  her  filmy  eyes, 
lent  her  a  rare  charm. 

For  just  an  instant  her  brown  fingers  touched 
his,  then  she  turned  and  fled  from  the  room. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          79 

Mrs.  Corbett  presently  bustled  in,  fat,  fifty,  and 
friendly. 

"I  can't  hardly  look  you  in  the  face,"  he  apolo- 
gized, with  his  most  winning  smile.  "I  reckon  I've 
been  a  nuisance  a-plenty,  getting  sick  on  your  hands 
like  a  kid." 

Mrs.  Corbett  answered  his  smile  as  she  arranged 
the  coverlets. 

"You'll  just  have  to  be  good  for  a  spell  to  make 
up  for  it.  No  more  ten-mile  walks,  Mr.  Muir,  till 
the  knee  is  all  right." 

"I  reckon  you  better  call  me  Gordon,  ma'am." 
His  mind  passed  to  what  she  had  said  about  his 
walk.  "Ce'tainly  that  was  a  fool  pasear  for  a  man 
to  take.  Comes  of  being  pig-headed,  Mrs.  Corbett. 
And  Doc  Watson  had  told  me  not  to  use  that  game 
leg  much.  But,  of  course,  I  knew  best,"  he  sighed 
ruefully. 

"Well,  you've  had  your  lesson.  And  you've  wor- 
ried all  of  us.  Miss  Valdes  has  called  up  two  or 
three  times  a  day  on  the  phone  and  sent  a  messenger 
over  every  evening  to  find  out  how  you  were." 

Dick  felt  the  blood  flush  his  face.  "She  has?" 
Then,  after  a  little:  "That's  very  kind  of  Miss 
Valdes." 

"Yes.    Everybody  has  been  kind.    Mr.  Pesquiera 


80          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

has  called  up  every  day  to  inquire  about  you.  He 
has  been  very  anxious  for  you  to  recover." 

A  faint  sardonic  smile  touched  the  white  lips. 
"A  fellow  never  knows  how  many  friends  he  has 
till  he  needs  them.  So  Don  Manuel  is  in  a  hurry  to 
have  me  get  on  my  feet.  That's  surely  right  kind 
of  him." 

He  thought  he  could  guess  why  that  proud  and 
passionate  son  of  Spain  fretted  to  see  him  ill.  The 
humiliation  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  was 
rankling  in  his  heart  and  would  oppress  him  till  he 
could  wipe  it  out  in  action. 

"You've  got  other  friends,  too,  that  have  wor- 
ried a  lot,"  said  Mrs.  Corbett,  as  she  took  up  some 
knitting. 

"More  friends  yet?  Say,  ain't  I  rich?  I  didn't 
know  how  blamed  popular  I  was  till  now,"  returned 
the  invalid,  with  derisive  irony.  "Who  is  it  this 
time  I've  got  to  be  grateful  for?" 

"Mr.  Davis." 

"Steve  Davis — from  Cripple  Creek,  Colorado, 
God's  Country?" 

"Yes." 

"Been  writing  about  me,  has  he?" 

Mrs.  Corbett  smiled.  She  had  something  up  her 
sleeve.  "First  writing,  then  wiring." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          81 

"He's  a  kind  of  second  dad  to  me.  Expect  the 
old  rooster  got  anxious." 

"Looks  that  way.  Anyhow,  he  reached  here  last 
night." 

Gordon  got  up  on  an  elbow  in  his  excitement. 
"Here?  Here  now?  Old  Steve?" 

She  nodded  her  head  and  looked  over  her  shoul- 
der toward  the  dining-room.  "In  there  eating  his 
breakfast.  He'll  be  through  pretty  soon.  You  see, 
he  doesn't  know  you're  awake." 

Presently  Davis  came  into  the  room.  He  walked 
to  the  bed  and  took  both  of  his  friend's  hands  in 
his.  Tears  were  shining  in  his  eyes. 

"You  darned  old  son-of-a-gun,  what  do  you  mean 
by  scaring  us  like  this  ?  I've  lost  two  years'  growth 
on  account  of  your  foolishness,  boy." 

"Did  Mrs.  Corbett  send  for  you?" 

"No,  I  sent  for  myself  soon  as  I  found  out  how 
sick  you  was.  Now  hustle  up  and  get  well." 

"I'm  going  to  do  just  that." 

Dick  kept  his  word.  Within  a  few  days  he  was 
promoted  to  a  rocking-chair  on  the  porch.  Here 
Juanita  served  his  meals  and  waited  on  his  de- 
mands with  the  shy  devotion  that  characterized  a 
change  in  her  attitude  to  him.  She  laughed  less 
than  she  did.  His  jokes,  his  claim  upon  her  as  his 
"little  partner,"  his  friendly  gratitude,  all  served 


to  embarrass  her,  and  at  the  same  time  to  fill  her 
with  a  new  and  wonderful  delight. 

A  week  ago,  when  he  had  been  lying  before  her 
asleep  one  day,  she  had  run  her  little  finger  through 
one  of  his  tawny  curls  and  admired  its  crisp  thick- 
ness. To  her  maiden  fancy  something  of  his  strong 
virility  had  escaped  even  to  this  wayward  little 
lock  of  hair.  She  had  wondered  then  how  the 
Senorita  Valdes  could  keep  from  loving  this  splen- 
did fellow  if  he  cared  for  her.  All  the  more  she 
wondered  now,  for  her  truant  heart  was  going  out 
to  him  with  the  swift  ardent  passion  of  her  race. 
It  was  as  a  sort  of  god  she  looked  upon  him,  as  a 
hero  of  romance  far  above  her  humble  hopes.  She 
found  herself  longing  for  chances  to  wait  upon 
him,  to  do  little  services  that  would  draw  the  ap- 
proving smile  to  his  eyes.  t 

Gordon  was  still  in  the  porch-dwelling  stage  of 
convalescence  when  a  Mexican  rider  swung  from 
his  saddle  one  afternoon  with  a  letter  from  Manuel 
Pesquiera.  The  note  was  a  formal  one,  written  in 
the  third  person,  and  it  wasted  no  words. 

After  reading  it  Dick  tossed  the  sheet  of  en- 
graved stationery  across  to  his  companion. 

"Nothing  like  having  good,  anxious  friends  in  a 
hurry  to  have  you  well,  Steve,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          83 

The  old  miner  read  the  communication.  "Well, 
what's  the  matter  with  his  hoping  you'll  be  all  right 
soon?" 

"No  reason  why  he  shouldn't.  It  only  shows 
what  a  Christian,  forgiving  disposition  he's  got. 
You  see,  that  day  I  most  walked  my  leg  off  I  soused 
Mr.  Pesquiera  in  a  ditch." 

"You— what?" 

"Just  what  I  say.  I  picked  him  up  and  dropped 
the  gentleman  in  the  nearest  ditch.  That's  why  he's 
so  anxious  to  get  me  well." 

"But— why  for,  boy?" 

Dick  laughed.  "Can't  you  see,  you  old  moss- 
back?  He  wants  me  well  enough  to  call  out  for  a 
duel." 

"A  duel."  Davis  stared  at  him  dubiously.  He 
did  not  know  whether  or  not  his  friend  was  making 
game  of  him. 

"Yes,  sir.  Pistols  and  coffee  for  two,  waiter. 
That  sort  of  thing." 

"But  folks  don't  fight  duels  nowadays,"  remon- 
strated the  puzzled  miner.  "Anyhow,  what's  he 
want  to  fight  about  ?  I  reckon  you  didn't  duck  him 
for  nothing,  did  you  ?  What  was  it  all  about  ?" 

Dick  told  his  tale  of  adventures,  omitting  only 
certain  emotions  that  were  his  private  property.  He 
concluded  with  an  account  of  the  irrigating-ditch 


84          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

episode.  "It  ain't  the  custom  in  this  part  of  the 
country  to  duck  the  blue  bloods.  Shouldn't  wonder 
but  what  he's  some  hot  under  the  collar.  Writes 
like  he  sees  red,  don't  you  think,  but  aims  to  be  po- 
lite and  keep  his  shirt  on." 

Davis  refused  to  treat  the  matter  as  a  joke. 

"I  told  you  to  let  your  lawyers  'tend  to  this, 
Dick,  and  for  you  not  to  poke  your  nose  into  this 
neck  of  the  woods.  But  you  had  to  come,  and 
right  hot  off  the  reel  you  hand  one  to  this  Pesky 
fellow,  or  whatever  you  call  him.  Didn't  I  tell  you 
that  you  can't  bat  these  greasers  over  the  head  the 
way  you  can  the  Poles  in  the  mines  ?" 

"Sure  you  told  me.  You're  always  loaded  with 
good  advice,  Steve.  But  what  do  you  expect  me  to 
do  when  a  fellow  slaps  my  face  ?" 

"They  won't  stand  fooling  with,  these  greasers. 
This  Pesky  fellow  is  playing  squarer  than  most 
would  if  he  gives  you  warning  to  be  ready  with 
your  six-gun.  You  take  my  advice,  and  you'll  burn 
the  wind  out  of  this  country.  If  you  git  this  fellow, 
the  whole  pack  of  them  will  be  on  top  of  you,  and 
don't  you  forget  it,  son." 

"So  you  advise  me  to  cut  and  run,  do  you  ?"  said 
Dick. 

"You  bet." 

"That's  what  you'd  do,  is  it?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          85 

"Sure  thing.  You  can't  clean  out  the  whole  of 
New  Mexico." 

"Quit  your  lying,  Steve,  you  old  war-horse. 
You'd  see  it  out,  just  like  I'm  going  to." 

Davis  scratched  his  grizzled  poll  and  grinned,  but 
continued  to  dispense  good  advice. 

"You  ain't  aiming  to  mix  with  this  whole  blamed 
country,  are  you?" 

The  man  in  the  chair  sat  up,  his  lean  jaw  set 
and  his  eyes  gleaming. 

"I've  been  called  the  scum  o'  the  earth.  I've  been 
kicked  out  of  her  house  as  a  fellow  not  decent 
enough  to  mix  with  honest  folks.  Only  yesterday 
I  got  a  letter  from  some  of  her  people  warning  me 
to  leave  the  country  while  I  was  still  alive.  This 
Pesquiera  is  camping  on  my  trail." 

"Maybe  he  ain't.    You've  only  guessed  that." 

"Guess  nothing.    It's  a  cinch." 

"What  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Nothing." 

"But  if  he  lays  for  you." 

"Good  enough.  Let  him  go  to  it.  I'm  going 
through  with  this  thing.  I'm  going  to  show  them 
who's  the  best  man.  And  when  I've  beat  them  to  a 
standstill  I've  got  a  revenge  ready  that  will  make 
Miss  Valdes  eat  humble  pie  proper.  Yes,  sir.  I'm 
tied  to  this  country  till  this  thing's  settled." 


86          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Then  there  ain't  any  use  saying  any  more  about 
it.  You  always  was  a  willful  son-of-a-gun,"  testi- 
fied his  partner,  with  a  grin.  "And  I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  stay  with  you  to  pack  you  home  after  the 
greasers  have  shot  you  up." 

"Don't  you  ever  think  it,  Steve,"  came  back  the 
cheerful  retort.  "I've  got  a  hunch  this  is  my  lucky 
game.  I'm  sitting  in  to  win,  old  hoss." 

"What's  your  first  play,  Dick?" 

"I  made  it  last  week,  within  twenty  minutes  of 
the  time  I  got  back  here.  Wired  my  lawyers  to 
bring  suit  at  once,  and  to  push  it  for  all  it  was 
worth." 

"You  can't  settle  it  by  the  courts  inside  of  a 
year,  or  mebbe  two." 

"I  ain't  aiming  to  settle  it  by  the  courts.  All  I 
want  is  they  should  know  I've  got  them  beat  to  a 
fare-ye-well  in  the  courts.  Their  lawyers  will  let 
them  know  that  mighty  early,  just  as  soon  as  they 
look  the  facts  up.  There  ain't  any  manner  of  doubt 
about  my  legal  claim.  I  guess  Miss  Valdes  knows 
that  already,  but  I  want  her  to  know  it  good  and 
sure.  Then  I'll  paddle  my  own  canoe.  The  law's 
only  a  bluff  to  make  my  hand  better.  I'm  calling 
for  that  extra  card  for  the  looks  of  it,  but  my  hand 
is  full  up  without  it." 

"What's  in  your  hand,  anyhow,  outside  of  your 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          87 

legal  right?    Looks  to  me  they  hold  them  all  from 
ace  down." 

Dick  laughed. 

"You  wait  and  see,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   VII 

TWO    MESSAGES 

Because  Dick  had  always  lived  a  clean,  outdoor 
life  he  rallied  magnificently  from  the  relapse  into 
which  his  indiscretion  had  thrown  him.  For  a  few 
days  Dr.  Watson  was  worried  by  reason  of  the 
danger  of  blood-poisoning,  but  the  splendid  vitality 
of  his  patient  quickly  swept  him  out  of  danger. 
Soon  he  was  hobbling  round  with  a  cane,  and 
shortly  after  was  able  to  take  long  rides  over  the 
country  with  his  friend. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  while  they  were  climb- 
ing a  hill  trail,  Davis  broke  a  long  silence  to  say 
aloud  to  himself :  "There's  just  one  way  to  account 
for  it." 

"Then  it  can't  be  a  woman  you're  thinking  of," 
Dick  laughed ;  "for  as  far  as  I  can  make  out  there's 
always  several  ways  to  account  for  them,  and  the 
one  you  guess  usually  ain't  right." 

"You've  said  it,  son.  It's  a  woman.  I  been  do- 
ing some  inquiring  about  this  Miss  Valdes,  and 
from  all  telling  she's  the  prettiest  ever." 

88 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          89 

"I  could  have  told  you  that.    It  ain't  a  secret." 

"I  notice  you  didn't  tell  me." 

"You  didn't  ask,  you  old  geezer." 

"Sho!  You  ain't  such  a  clam  when  it  comes  to 
pretty  girls.  You  didn't  talk  about  her,  because 
your  haid's  been  full  of  her.  It  don't  take  a  mind- 
reader  to  know  that." 

"You're  ce'tainly  a  wizard,  Steve,"  came  back  his 
partner  dryly. 

"I  know  you  and  your  little  ways  by  this  time." 

"So  I'm  in  love,  am  I  ?" 

"You're  there,  or  traveling  there  mighty  fast. 
Course  I  don't  know  about  the  lady." 

"What  don't  you  know  about  her?"  asked  Dick, 
who  was  by  way  of  being  both  amused  and  pleased 
that  the  subject  had  been  broached. 

"How  she  feels  about  the  proposition.  She  had 
you  kicked  out  of  the  house.  That  looks  kinder  as 
if  your  show  was  slim.  She  did  send  over  right 
often  to  see  how  you  was  getting  along,  but  I  reckon 
she  didn't  want  to  feel  responsible  for  your  turn- 
ing up  your  toes.  Women  are  that  way,  even  when 
they  hate  a  man  real  thorough." 

"You're  quite  an  expert.  I  wonder  you  know  so 
much  about  them,  and  you  never  married." 

To  this  sarcastic  reminder  Steve  made  philo- 


90          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

sophic  reply.  "Mebbe  it  was  because  I  knew  so 
much  about  them  I  never  married." 

"You're  surely  a  wise  old  rooster.  You  think  she 
hates  me,  then?" 

Davis  covered  a  grin.  He  knew  from  his  friend's 
tone  that  the  barb  had  pierced  the  skin. 

"Well,  looking  at  it  like  a  reasonable  man,  there 
ain't  any  question  about  it.  Soon  as  you  begin  to 
mend  she  quits  taking  any  interest  in  you;  don't 
know  you're  on  the  earth  any  more.  A  reasonable 
man " 

"A  reasonable  goat!"  Dick  reined  up  till  the 
other  horse  was  abreast  of  his,  then  dived  into  his 
pocket  and  handed  Steve  a  letter.  "She's  quit  tak- 
ing any  interest  in  me,  has  she?  Don't  know  I'm 
on  the  earth,  you  old  owl?  Looks  like  it,  and  her 
sending  me  a  letter  this  very  day." 

Steve  turned  the  square  envelope  around  and 
weighed  it  in  his  hand. 

"Am  I  to  read  this  here  billy  doof"  he  wanted 
to  know. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Gravely  the  old  miner  opened  and  read  the  fol- 
lowing : 

"Miss  Valdes  begs  to  inform  Mr.  Gordon  that 
she  has  reason  to  fear  Mr.  Gordon's  life  is  not  safe 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          91 

in  the  present  feeling  of  the  country.  Out  of  re- 
gard for  her  people,  whom  she  would  greatly  regret 
to  see  in  trouble,  Miss  Valdes  would  recommend 
Mr.  Gordon  to  cut  short  his  pleasure  trip  to  New 
Mexico.  Otherwise  Miss  Valdes  declines  any  re- 
sponsibility for  the  result" 

"Can't  be  called  very  affectionate,  can  it?"  was 
Mr.  Davis's  comment.  "Ain't  it  jest  a  leetle  mite — 
well,  like  she  was  writing  with  a  poker  down  her 
back?" 

"I  didn't  say  it  was  affectionate,"  snorted  the 
young  man. 

"Oh,  I  allowed  you  thought  she  was  in  love  with 
you." 

"I  didn't  say  or  think  anything  of  the  kind," 
protested  Dick  indignantly.  "I  said  she  hadn't  for- 
gotten me." 

"Well,  she  ain't,  if  that's  any  comfort." 

With  which,  Mr.  Davis  handed  back  the  letter. 
"What  did  you  answer  to  the  billy  doof 

"I  said  that  Mr.  Gordon  presented  his  compli- 
ments and  begged  to  reply  that  he  had  large  busi- 
ness interests  in  this  part  of  the  country  that  neces- 
sitated a  visit  of  some  length,  and  probably  in  the 
end  a  permanent  residence  here ;  and  that  he  would 


92  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

very  fully  absolve  Miss  Valdes  of  any  responsibility 
for  his  remaining." 

"Both  of  you  used  up  a  heap  of  dictionary  words ; 
but  that  wasn't  so  bad,  either,"  grinned  Steve. 
"You  got  back  at  her,  all  right,  for  the  'pleasure 
trip'  part  of  her  letter,  but  I  expect  you  and  she 
would  disagree  as  to  what  that  'permanent  resi- 
dence' means.  I  hope  it  won't  be  more  permanent 
than  you  think." 

From  the  rocks  above  came  the  sound  of  an  ex- 
ploding rifle.  Dick's  hat  was  lifted  from  his  head 
as  by  a  gust  of  wind.  Immediately  after  they 
caught  sight  of  a  slim,  boyish  figure  dodging  among 
the  rocks. 

"There  he  goes,"  cried  Dick ;  and  he  slid  from  his 
saddle  and  took  up  the  chase. 

"Come  back.  There  may  be  several  of  them  up 
there,"  called  the  old  miner. 

Gordon  paid  no  attention ;  and  Steve  had  nothing 
left  to  do  but  follow  him  up  the  rocky  hillside. 

"He'll  spoil  that  game  leg  of  his  again,  first  thing 
he  knows,"  the  old-timer  growled  as  he  followed 
in  the  rear. 

Presently  a  second  shot  rang  out.  Davis  has- 
tened forward  as  fast  as  he  could. 

At  the  top  of  the  ridge  he  came  on  his  companion 
sitting  behind  a  rock. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS         93 

"Lost  him  in  these  rocks,  did  you?"  he  asked. 

A  sardonic  smile  lit  up  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"No,  Steve,  I  found  him;  but  he  persuaded  me 
I  oughtn't  to  travel  so  fast  on  this  leg.  You  see,  he 
had  a  rifle,  and  my  six-gun  was  outclassed.  I 
couldn't  get  into  range,  and  decided  to  hunt  cover, 
after  he  took  another  crack  at  me." 

"I  should  think  you'd  know  better  than  to  go 
hunting  bear  with  a  twenty-two." 

"It  ain't  a  twenty-two;  but,  for  a  fact,  it  don't 
carry  a  mile.  I  got  what  I  want,  though.  I  know 
who  the  gentleman  is." 

"Sure  it  wasn't  a  lady,  Dick?" 

"Don't  you,  Steve,"  warned  Gordon.  "She's  a 
lady  and  a  Christian.  You  wouldn't  say  that  if  you 
knew  her.  Besides,  she  sa.ved  my  life." 

"Who  was  it?    That  Pesky  fellow?" 

"No.  He's  hot-blooded;  but  he  wouldn't  strike 
below  the  belt.  He's  a  gentleman.  This  was  one 
of  the  lads  on  her  home-place,  an  eighteen-year-old 
boy  named  Pedro.  He's  in  love  with  her.  I  saw 
it  soon  as  I  set  eyes  on  him  the  day  I  went  there. 
He  worships  her  as  if  she  were  a  saint.  Of  course, 
he  loves  her  without  any  hope;  but  that  doesn't 
keep  him  from  being  jealous  of  me.  He's  heard 
about  the  row,  and  he  thinks  he'll  do  her  a  service 
by  putting  me  out  of  the  game." 


94          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Sort  of  fix  you  up  with  that  permanent  residence 
you  were  talking  about,"  suggested  Steve. 

"He  didn't  make  good  this  time,  anyhow.  I'll 
bet  a  hat  he'd  catch  it  if  Miss  Valdes  knew  what  he 
had  been  doing." 

"She  may  be  a  Christian  and  all  you  say,  Dick, 
but  she  don't  run  a  Sunday  school  on  her  ranch  and 
train  these  young  greasers  proper.  I  don't  like  this 
ambushing.  They  might  git  the  wrong  man." 

"I'm  not  partial  to  it,  myself.  That  lead  pill 
hummed  awful  close  to  me." 

They  had  by  this  time  returned  to  the  road,  and 
Dick  picked  up  his  hat  from  the  dust.  There  were 
two  little  round  holes  in  the  crown,  and  one  in  the 
brim. 

"If  he  had  shot  an  inch  lower  I  would  have  quali- 
fied for  that  permanent  residence,  Steve,"  Dick 
laughed. 

"Hmp!  Let's  get  out  of  here  pronto,  Dick.  I'm 
darned  if  I  like  to  be  the  target  at  a  shooting  gal- 
lery. And  next  time  I  go  riding  there's  going  to  be 
a  good  old  Winchester  lying  over  my  saddle-horn." 

Now,  as  very  chance  would  have  it,  Miss  Valdes, 
too,  rode  the  hill  trail  that  afternoon;  and  every 
step  of  the  broncos  lessened  the  distance  between 
them. 

They  met  at  a  turn  of  the  steep  path.    Davis  was 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          95 

in  the  lead,  and  the  girl  passed  him  just  in  time  to 
meet  Dick's  bow.  It  was  a  very  respectful  bow; 
but  there  was  a  humorous  irony  in  the  gray  eyes 
that  met  hers,  which  hinted  at  a  different  story.  She 
made  as  if  to  pass  him,  but,  on  an  impulse,  reined 
in.  His  ventilated  hat  came  off  again,  as  he  waited 
for  her  to  speak. 

For  an  instant  she  let  her  gaze  rest  in  his,  the 
subdued  crimson  of  her  cheeks  triumphant  over  the 
olive.  But  the  color  was  not  of  embarrassment,  and 
in  her  eyes  shone  the  spirit  of  a  descendant  of  old 
Don  Alvaro  de  Valdes  y  Castillo.  She  sat  her 
mount  superbly;  as  jimp  and  erect  as  a  willow  sap- 
ling. 

"You  received  a  message  from  me  this  morning, 
sir,"  she  said  haughtily. 

"Yes,  Miss  Valdes;  I  received  a  message  from 
you  this  morning  and  answered  it.  This  afternoon 
I  received  one  from  one  of  your  friends;  but  I 
haven't  answered  that  yet." 

As  he  spoke  he  let  his  eyes  fall  upon  the  hat  in 
his  hand. 

Hers  followed  his,  and  she  started  in  spite  of  her- 
self. 

"Did — did — were  you  shot  at?"  she  asked,  with 
dilating  eyes. 


96          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Oh,  well!  He  didn't  hit  me.  It's  not  worth 
mentioning." 

"Not  worth  mentioning?  Who  did  it,  sir?  I 
demand  to  know  who  did  it?" 

He  hesitated  as  he  picked  his  words. 

"You  see — well — he  was  behind  a  rock,  and  not 
very  close,  at  that." 

"But  you  knew  him.  I  demand  his  name.  He 
shall  be  punished.  I  myself  will  see  to  that." 

"I'll  do  what  punishing  needs  to  be  done,  Miss 
Valdes.  Much  obliged  to  you,  just  the  same." 

Her  eyes  flashed. 

"You  forget,  sir,  that  they  are  my  people.  I  gave 
orders — the  very  strictest  orders.  I  told  them  that, 
no  matter  what  you  did  or  how  far  you  went,  you 
were  not  to  be  molested." 

"How  far  I  went?  You've  been  served  with  a 
legal  notice,  then?  I  thought  you  must  have  by 
this  time." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have.  But  neither  on  that  nor  any 
other  subject  do  I  desire  any  conversation  with 
you." 

"Of  course  not,  me  being  a  spy  and  all  those 
other  things  you  mentioned,"  he  said  quietly. 

"I  stopped  to  tell  you  only  one  thing.  You  must 
leave  this  country.  Prosecute  your  suit  from  a  dis- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          97 

tance.  My  people  are  wrought  up.  You  see  for 
yourself  now."  Her  gauntlet  indicated  the  hat. 

"They  do  seem  to  be  enthusiastic  about  hating 
me,"  he  agreed  pleasantly.  "I  suppose  I'm  not  what 
you  would  call  popular  here." 

She  gave  a  gesture  of  annoyance. 

"Can't  you  understand  that  this  is  no  time  for 
flippancy?  Can't  you  make  him  see  it,  sir?"  she 
called  to  Davis. 

That  gentleman  shook  his  head. 

"He'll  go  his  own  way,  I  expect.  He  always  was 
that  bull-headed." 

"Firm — I  call  it,"  smiled  Gordon. 

"I  ask  you  to  remember  that  he  has  had  his  warn- 
ing," the  girl  called  to  Steve. 

"I've  had  several,"  acknowledged  Dick,  his  eyes 
again  on  the  hat.  "There  won't  be  anybody  to 
blame  but  myself." 

"You  know  who  shot  at  you.  I  saw  it  in  your 
face.  Tell  me,  and  I  will  see  that  he  is  punished," 
she  urged. 

Dick  shook  his  head  imperturbably. 

"No;  I  reckon  that  wouldn't  do.  I'm  playing  a 
lone  hand.  You're  on  the  other  side.  How  can  I 
come  and  ask  you  to  fight  my  battles  for  me  ?  That 
wouldn't  be  playing  the  game.  I'll  attend  to  the 
young  man  that  mistook  me  for  a  rabbit." 


98          A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Very  well.  As  you  like.  But  you  are  quite 
mistaken  if  you  think  I  asked  on  your  account.  He 
had  disobeyed  my  orders,  and  he  deserved  to  pay 
for  it.  I  have  no  further  interest  in  the  matter." 

"Certainly.  I  understand  that.  What  interest 
could  Miss  Valdes  have  in  a  spy  and  a  cheat?"  he 
drawled  negligently. 

The  young  woman  flushed,  made  as  if  to  speak, 
then  turned  away  abruptly. 

She  touched  her  pony  with  the  spur,  and  as  it 
took  the  outside  of  the  slanting,  narrow  trail,  its 
hoof  slipped  on  loose  gravel  and  went  over  the 
edge.  Dick's  arm  went  out  like  a  streak  of  light- 
ning and  caught  the  rein. 

For  an  instant  the  issue  hung  in  doubt  whether  he 
could  hold  the  bronco  and  save  her  a  nasty  fall. 
The  taut  muscles  of  his  lean  arm  and  body  grew 
rigid  with  the  strain  before  the  animal  found  its 
feet  and  the  path. 

"Thank  you,"  the  young  woman  said  quietly,  and 
at  once  disengaged  the  rein  from  his  fingers  by  a 
turn  of  the  pony's  head. 

Yet  a  moment,  and  she  had  disappeared  round  a 
bend  in  the  trail.  Gordon  had  observed  with  satis- 
faction that  there  had  been  no  sign  of  fear  in  her 
eyes  at  the  danger  she  faced,  no  screaming  or  wild 
clutching  at  his  arm  for  help.  Her  word  of  thanks 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS          99 

to  him  had  been  as  cool  and  low  as  the  rest  of  her 
talk. 

"She  s  that  game.  Ain't  she  a  thoroughbred, 
Steve?"  demanded  Dick,  with  deep  delight  in  his 
fair  foe. 

"You  bet  she  is.  It's  a  shame  for  you  to  be  an- 
noying her  this  way.  Why  don't  you  come  to  an 
agreement  with  her?" 

"She  ain't  ready  for  that  yet.  When  the  time 
comes  I'll  dictate  the  terms  of  the  treaty.  Don't 
you  think  it's  about  time  for  us  to  be  heading  back 
home?" 

"Then  we'll  meet  your  lady  of  the  ranch  quicker, 
won't  we?"  chuckled  Davis.  "Funny  you  didn't 
think  about  going  back  till  after  she  had  passed." 

But  if  Dick  had  hoped  to  see  her  again  he  was 
disappointed  for  that  day,  at  least.  They  reached 
Corbett's  with  never  another  glimpse  of  her;  nor 
was  there  any  sign  of  her  horse  in  front  of  the  post 
office  and  general  store. 

"Must  have  taken  that  lower  trail  that  leads  back 
to  the  ranch,"  hazarded  Gordon. 

"I  reckon,"  agreed  his  friend.  "Seems  funny, 
too;  her  knowing  you  was  on  the  upper  one." 

"Guy  me  all  you  like.  I  can  stand  it,"  returned 
Dick  cheerfully. 

For  he  had  scored  once  in  spite  of  her.    He  had 


100         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

saved  her  from  a  fall,  at  a  place  where,  to  say  the 
least,  it  would  have  been  dangerous.  She  had  an- 
nounced herself  indifferent  to  his  existence ;  but  the 
very  fact  that  she  had  felt  called  upon  to  say  so  gave 
denial  to  the  statement.  She  might  hate  him,  and 
she  probably  did ;  at  least,  she  had  him  on  her  mind 
a  good  deal.  The  young  man  was  sure  of  that.  He 
was  shrewdly  of  opinion  that  his  chances  were  bet- 
ter if  she  hated  him  than  if  she  never  thought  of 
him  at  all. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

TAMING  AN   OUTLAW 

"Something  doing  back  of  the  corral,  Mr.  Gor- 
don." 

Yeager,  the  horse-wrangler  at  Corbett's,  stopped 
in  front  of  the  porch,  and  jerked  his  head,  with  a 
twisted  grin,  in  the  direction  indicated. 

Everything  about  the  little  stableman  was 
crooked.  From  the  slope  of  his  legs  to  the  set  of 
his  bullet  head  on  the  narrow  shoulders,  he  was 
awry.  But  he  had  an  instinct  about  horses  that  was 
worth  more  than  the  beauty  of  any  slim,  tanned 
vaquero  of  the  lot. 

Only  one  horse  had  he  failed  to  subdue.  That 
was  Teddy,  a  rakish  sorrel  that  had  never  yet  been 
ridden.  Many  had  tried  it,  but  none  had  stuck  to 
the  saddle  to  the  finish ;  and  some  had  been  carried 
from  the  corral  to  the  hospital. 

Dick  got  up  and  strolled  back,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets. 

A  dozen  vaqueros  and  loungers  sat  and  stood 
101 


102        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

around  the  mouth  of  the  corral,  from  which  a  slim 
young  Mexican  was  leading  the  sorrel. 

"So,  it's  you,  Master  Pedro,"  thought  the  young 
American.  "I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here." 

The  lad  met  his  eyes  quietly  as  he  passed,  giv- 
ing him  a  sullen  nod  of  greeting ;  evidently  he  hoped 
he  had  not  been  recognized  as  the  previous  day's 
ambusher. 

"Is  Pedro  going  to  ride  the  outcast  ?"  Dick  asked 
of  Yeager,  in  surprise. 

Yeager  grinned. 

"He's  going  to  try.  The  boy's  a  slap-up  rider, 
but  he  ain't  got  it  in  him  to  break  Teddy — no,  nor 
any  man  in  New  Mexico  ain't." 

Dick  looked  the  horse  over  carefully,  as  it  stood 
there  while  the  boy  tightened  the  girths — feet  wide 
apart,  small  head  low,  and  red  eyes  gleaming  wick- 
edly. Deep-chested,  with  mighty  shoulders,  barrel- 
bodied  like  an  Indian  pony,  Tetidy  showed  power 
in  every  line  of  him.  It  was  easy  to  guess  him 
for  the  unbroken  outlaw  he  was. 

There  was  a  swift  scatter  backward  of  the  on- 
lookers as  Pedro  swung  to  the  saddle.  Before  his 
right  foot  was  in  the  stirrup,  the  bronco  bucked. 

The  young  Mexican,  light  and  graceful,  settled 
to  the  saddle  with  a  delighted  laugh,  and  drove  the 
spurs  home.  The  animal  humped  like  a  camel,  head 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        103 

and  tail  down,  went  into  the  air  and  back  to  earth, 
with  four  feet  set  like  pile-drivers.  It  was  a  shock 
to  drive  a  man's  spine  together  like  a  concertina; 
but  Pedro  took  it  limply,  giving  to  the  jar  of  the  im- 
pact as  the  pony  came  down  again  and  again. 

Teddy  tasted  the  quirt  along  his  quarters,  and 
the  pain  made  him  frantic.  He  went  screaming 
straight  into  the  air,  hung  there  a  long  instant,  and 
fell  over  backward.  The  lad  was  out  of  the  saddle 
in  time  and  no  more,  and  back  in  his  seat  before 
the  outlaw  had  scrambled  to  his  feet. 

The  spur  stirred  him  to  renewed  life.  Like  a 
flash  of  lightning,  the  brute's  head  swung  round  and 
snapped  at  the  boy's  leg.  Pedro  wrenched  the  head 
back  in  time  to  save  himself;  and  Teddy  went  to 
sun-fishing,  and  presently  to  fence-rowing. 

The  dust  flew  in  clouds.  It  wrapped  them  in  so 
that  the  boy  saw  nothing  but  the  wicked  ears  in 
front  of  him.  His  throat  became  a  lime-kiln,  his 
eyes  stared  like  those  of  a  man  weary  from  long 
wake  fulness.  The  hot  sun  baked  his  bare  neck  and 
head,  the  while  Teddy  rocketed  into  the  sky  and 
pounded  into  the  earth. 

Neither  rider  nor  mount  had  mercy.  The  quirt 
went  back  and  forth  like  a  piston-rod,  and  the  out- 
law, in  screaming  fury,  leaped  and  tossed  like  a 
small  boat  in  a  tremendous  sea  of  cross-currents. 


104        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"It's  sure  hell-for-leather.  That  hawss  can  tie 
himself  in  more  knots  than  any  that  was  ever 
foaled,"  commented  a  tobacco-chewing  puncher  in 
a  scarlet  kerchief. 

"Pedro  is  a  straight-up  rider,  but  he  ain't  got  it 
in  him  to  master  Teddy — no;  nor  no  man  ain't," 
contributed  Yeager  again  proudly.  "Hawsses  is 
like  men.  Some  of  'em  can't  be  broke;  you  can 
only  kill  them.  Teddy's  one  of  them  kind." 

Dick  differed,  but  did  not  say  so. 

"Look  at  him  now.  There  he  goes  weaving. 
That  hawss  is  a  devil,  I  tell  you.  He's  got  every 
hawss-trick  there  is,  and  all  of  'em  worked  up  to 
a  combination  of  his  own.  Look  out  there,  Fed." 

The  warning  came  too  late.  Teddy  had  jammed 
into  the  corral  fence,  and  ground  his  rider's  knee 
till  the  torture  of  the  pain  had  distracted  his  atten- 
tion. Once  more  then  swept  round  the  ugly  stub 
nose,  and  the  yellow  teeth  fastened  in  the  leather 
chaps  with  a  vicious  snap  that  did  not  entirely  miss 
the  flesh  of  the  leg. 

The  boy,  with  a  cry  of  pain  and  terror,  slipped 
to  the  ground,  his  nerve  completely  shaken.  The 
sorrel  lashed  out  with  his  hind  feet,  and  missed  his 
head  by  a  hairbreadth.  Pedro  turned  to  run,  stum- 
bled, and  went  down. 

The  outlaw  was  upon  him  like  a  streak,  striking 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS       105 

with  sharp  chiseled  forefeet  at  the  prostrate  man. 
Along  the  line  of  spectators  ran  a  groan,  a  kind  of 
sobbing  murmur  of  despair.  A  young  Mexican 
who  had  just  ridden  up  flung  himself  from  his  horse 
and  ran  forward,  though  he  knew  he  was  too  late. 

"Pedro's  done  for,"  cried  one. 

And  so  he  would  have  been  but  for  the  watchful- 
ness and  alertness  of  one  man. 

Dick  had  been  ready  the  instant  the  outlaw  had 
flung  against  the  fence.  He  had  been  prepared  to 
see  the  boy  weaken,  and  had  anticipated  it  in  his 
forward  leap.  The  furious  animal  had  risen  to 
drive  home  his  hoofs,  when  an  arm  shot  out,  caught 
the  bridle,  and  dragged  him  sideways.  This  unex- 
pected intervention  dazed  the  animal;  and  while  he 
still  stood  uncertain,  Gordon  swung  to  the  saddle 
and  dug  his  heels  into  the  bleeding  sides. 

As  to  a  signal  the  bronco  rose,  and  the  battle 
was  on  again. 

But  this  time  the  victory  was  not  in  doubt  to  the 
onlookers  after  the  first  half-dozen  jumps.  For 
this  man  rode  like  a  master.  He  held  a  close  but 
easy  seat,  and  a  firm  rein,  along  which  ran  the  mes- 
sage of  an  iron  will  to  the  sensitive  foaming  mouth 
which  held  the  bit  tight-clamped. 

This  brown,  lithe  man  was  all  bone  and  sinew 
and  muscle.  He  rode  like  a  Centaur,  as  if  he  were 


106        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

a  part  of  the  horse,  as  easily  and  gracefully  as  a 
chip  does  the  waves.  The  outlaw  was  furious  with 
hate,  blind  with  a  madness  that  surged  through  it; 
but  all  its  weaving  and  fence-rowing  could  not  shake 
the  perfect  poise  of  the  rider,  nor  tinge  with  fear 
the  glad  fighting  edge  that  throbbed  like  a  trumpet- 
call  in  the  blood. 

Slowly  the  certainty  of  this  sifted  to  the  animal. 
The  pitches  grew  less  volcanic,  died  presently  into 
fitful  mechanical  rises  and  falls  that  foretold  the 
finish.  Its  spirit  broken,  with  that  terrible  incubus 
of  a  human  clothes-pin  still  clamped  to  the  saddle, 
Teddy  gave  up,  and  for  the  first  time  hung  his  head 
in  token  of  defeat. 

Dick  tossed  the  bridle  to  Yeager  and  swung  off. 

"There  aren't  any  of  them  so  bad,  if  a  fellow 
will  stay  with  them,"  he  said. 

"Where  did  you  learn  your  riding,  partner?" 
asked  the  puncher  with  the  scarlet  kerchief  knotted 
around  his  neck. 

"I  used  to  ride  for  an  outfit  up  in  Wyoming,"  re- 
turned Dick. 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  ride  for  that  outfit,  if  all  the 
boys  stick  to  the  saddle  like  you,"  returned  the  ker- 
chiefed one. 

Gordon  did  not  explain  that  he  had  been  returned 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS       107 

winner  in  more  than  one  bucking-bronco  contest 
in  the  days  when  he  rode  the  range. 

He  was  already  sauntering  toward  the  house. 

From  a  side  porch  Pedro,  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
a  rig  to  take  him  back  to  the  ranch,  sat  with  his 
bruised  leg  on  a  chair  and  watched  the  approach 
of  the  stalwart  figure  that  came  as  lightly  as  though 
it  trod  on  eggs.  He  had  hobbled  here  and  watched 
the  other  do  easily  what  had  been  beyond  him. 

His  heart  was  bitter  with  the  sense  of  defeat, 
none  the  less  because  this  man  whom  he  had  lately 
tried  to  kill  had  just  saved  his  life. 

"Como?"  asked  Dick,  stopping  in  front  of  him 
to  brush  dust  from  his  trousers  with  a  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

Pedro  mumbled  something.  Under  his  olive  skin 
the  color  burned.  Tears  of  mortification  were  in 
his  eyes. 

"You  saved  my  life,  senor.  Take  it.  It  is 
yours,"  the  boy  cried. 

"What  shall  /  do  with  it?" 

"I  care  not.  Make  an  end  of  it,  as  on  Tuesday 
I  tried  to  make  an  end  of  yours,"  cried  the  lad 
wildly. 

Gordon  took  off  his  hat  and  looked  at  the  bullet 
holes  casually. 

"You  did  not  miss  it  very  far,  Pedro." 


108        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"You  knew  then,  senor,  that  I  was  the  man?" 
the  Mexican  asked  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  knew  that." 

"And  you  did  nothing?" 

"Yes;  I  ducked  behind  a  rock,"  laughed  Gordon. 

"But  you  make  no  move  to  arrest  me?" 

"No." 

"But,  if  I  should  shoot  again?" 

"I  expect  to  carry  a  rifle  next  time  I  go  riding, 
Pedro." 

The  Mexican  considered  this. 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  senor." 

The  Anglo-Saxon  snorted  scornfully. 

"Because  I  ain't  bluffed  out  by  a  kid  that  needs 
a  horse-whip  laid  on  good  and  hard?  Don't  you 
make  any  mistake,  boy.  I'm  going  to  give  you  the 
licking  of  your  young  life.  You  were  due  for  it 
to-day,  but  it  will  have  to  be  postponed,  I  reckon, 
till  you're  on  your  feet  again." 

Pedro's  eyes  glittered  dangerously. 

"Sefior  Gordon  has  saved  my  life.  It  is  his.  But 
no  living  man  lays  hands  on  Pedro  Menendez,"  the 
boy  said,  drawing  himself  haughtily  to  his  full 
slender  height. 

"You'll  learn  better,  Pedro,  before  the  week's  out. 
You've  got  to  stand  the  gaff,  just  the  same  as  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        109 

white  boy  would.  You're  in  for  a  good  whaling, 
and  there  ain't  any  use  getting  heroic  about  it." 

"I  think  not,  Senor  Gordon."  There  was  a  sug- 
"gestion  of  repressed  emotion  in  the  voice. 

Dick  turned  sharply  at  the  words.  A  lean,  clean- 
built  young  fellow  stood  beside  the  porch.  He 
stepped  up  lightly,  so  that  he  was  behind  the  chair 
in  which  Pedro  had  been  sitting.  Seen  side  by  side 
thus,  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  kinship  be- 
tween the  two  Mexicans.  Both  were  good  looking, 
both  lean  and  muscular,  both  had  a  sort  of  banked 
volcanic  passion  in  their  black  eyes.  Dangerous 
men,  these  slim  swarthy  youths,  judged  Gordon 
with  a  sure  instinct. 

"You  think  not,  Pedro  Number  2,"  retorted  the 
American  lightly. 

"My  name  is  Pablo,  Senor — Pablo  Menendez," 
corrected  the  young  man  with  dignity. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Menendez.  I  was 
just  telling  your  brother — if  Pedro  is  your 
brother — that  I  intend  to  wear  out  a  buggy  whip 
on  him  as  soon  as  his  leg  is  well,"  explained  Dick 
pleasantly. 

"No.  You  have  saved  his  life.  It  is  yours. 
Take  it."  The  black  eyes  of  the  Mexican  met 
steadily  the  blue-gray  ones  of  the  American. 

"Much  obliged,  but  I  can't  use  it.     As  soon  as 


110        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

I've  tanned  his  hide  I'm  through  with  Master 
Pedro,"  returned  the  miner  carelessly. 

He  was  turning  away  when  Pablo  stopped  him. 
The  musical  voice  was  low  and  clear.  "Senor  Gor- 
don understands  then.  Pedro  will  pay.  He  will 
endure  shot  for  shot  if  the  Senor  wishes  it.  But 
no  man  living  shall  lay  a  whip  upon  him." 

Gordon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "We  shall  see, 
my  friend.  The  first  time  I  meet  him  after  his  leg 
is  all  right  Master  Pedro  gets  the  licking  he  needs." 

"You  are  warned,  senor." 

Dick  nodded  and  walked  away,  humming  a  song 
lightly. 

The  black  eyes  of  the  Mexicans  followed  him  as 
long  as  he  was  in  sight.  A  passionate  hatred  burned 
in  those  of  the  elder  brother.  Those  of  Pedro  were 
full  of  a  wistful  misery.  With  all  his  heart  he 
admired  this  man  whom  he  had  yesterday  tried  to 
kill,  who  had  to-day  saved  his  life,  and  in  the  next 
breath  promised  him  a  thrashing. 

He  gave  him  a  grudging  hero-worship,  even 
while  he  hated  him;  for  the  man  trod  the  world 
with  the  splendor  of  a  young  god,  and  yet  was 
an  enemy  of  the  young  mistress  to  whom  he  owed 
his  full  devotion.  Pedro's  mind  was  made  up. 

If  this  Gordon  laid  a  whip  on  him,  he  would 
drive  a  knife  into  his  heart. 


CHAPTER   IX 

OF  DON  MANUEL  AND  MOONLIGHT 

Don  Manuel  sat  curled  up  in  one  of  the  deep 
window-seats  of  the  living  room  at  the  Valdes 
home,  and  lifted  his  clear  tenor  softly  in  an  old 
Spanish  love-song  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
strumming  of  a  guitar. 

It  is  possible  that  the  young  Spaniard  sang  the 
serenade  impersonally,  as  much  to  the  elderly 
duenna  who  slumbered  placidly  on  the  other  side 
of  the  fireplace  as  to  his  lovely  young  hostess.  But 
his  eyes  told  another  story.  They  strayed  contin- 
uously toward  that  slim,  gracious  figure  sitting  in 
the  fireglow  with  a  piece  of  embroidery  in  the  long 
fingers. 

He  could  look  at  her  the  more  ardently  because 
she  was  not  looking  at  him.  The  fringes  of  her 
lids  were  downcast  to  the  dusky  cheeks,  the  better 
to  examine  the  work  upon  which  she  was  engaged. 

Don  Manuel  felt  the  hour  propitious.  It  was 
impossible  for  him  not  to  feel  that  in  the  past  weeks 
somehow  he  had  lost  touch  with  her.  Something 
111 


112        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

had  come  between  them;  some  new  interest  that 
threatened  his  influence. 

But  to-night  he  had  again  woven  the  spell  of  ro- 
mance around  her.  As  she  sat  there,  a  sweet 
shadowy  form  touched  to  indistinctness  by  the  soft 
dusk,  he  knew  her  gallant  heart  had  gone  with  him 
in  the  Castilian  battle  song  he  had  sung,  had  re- 
mained with  him  in  the  transition  to  the  more 
tender  note  of  love. 

He  rose,  thumbed  a  chord  or  two,  then  set  his 
guitar  down  softly.  For  a  time  he  looked  out  into 
the  valley  swimming  in  a  silvery  light,  and  under 
its  spell  the  longing  in  him  came  to  words. 

"It  is  a  night  of  nights,  my  cousin.  Is  it  not 
that  a  house  is  a  prison  in  such  an  hour?  Let  us 
forth." 

So  forth  they  fared  to  the  porch,  and  from  the 
porch  to  the  sentinel  rock  which  rose  like  a  needle 
from  the  summit  of  a  neighboring  hill.  Across  the 
sea  of  silver  they  looked  to  the  violet  mountains, 
soft  and  featureless  in  the  lowered  lights  of  eve- 
ning, and  both  of  them  felt  it  earth's  hour  of  su- 
preme beauty. 

"It  is  good  to  live — and  to  know  this,"  she  said 
at  last  softly. 

"It  is  good  to  live  and,  best  of  all,  to  know  you," 
he  made  answer  slowly. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        113 

She  did  not  turn  from  the  hills,  made  no  slightest 
sign  that  she  had  heard ;  but  to  herself  she  was  sav- 
ing: "It  has  come." 

While  he  pleaded  his  cause  passionately,  with  all 
the  ardor  of  hot-blooded  Spain,  the  girl  heard  only 
with  her  ears.  She  was  searching  her  heart  for 
the  answer  to  the  question  she  asked  of  it: 

"Is  this  the  man?" 

A  month  ago  she  might  have  found  her  answer 
easier;  but  she  felt  that  in  some  subtle,  intangible 
way  she  was  not  the  same  girl  as  the  Valencia 
Valdes  she  had  known  then.  Something  new  had 
come  into  her  life;  something  that  at  times  exalted 
her  and  seemed  to  make  life's  currents  sweep  with 
more  abandon. 

She  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  it  meant;  but, 
though  she  would  not  confess  it  even  to  herself,  she 
was  aware  that  the  American  was  the  stimulating 
cause.  He  was  her  enemy,  and  she  detested  him; 
and,  in  the  same  breath  with  which  she  would  tell 
herself  this,  would  come  that  warm  beat  of  ex- 
ultant blood  she  had  never  known  till  lately. 

With  all  his  ardor,  Don  Manuel  never  quickened 
her  pulses.  She  liked  him,  understood  him,  appre- 
ciated his  value.  He  was  certainly  very  handsome, 
and,  without  doubt,  a  brave,  courteous  gentleman 
of  her  own  set  with  whom  she  ought  to  be  happy 


114        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

if  she  loved  him.  Ah!  If  she  knew  what  love 
were. 

So,  when  the  torrent  of  Pesquiera's  speech  was 
for  the  moment  dammed,  she  could  only  say : 

"I  don't  know,  Manuel." 

Confidently  he  explained  away  her  uncertainty: 

"A  maiden's  love  is  retiring,  shy,  like  the  first 
flowers  of  the  spring.  She  doubts  it,  fears  it,  hides 
it,  my  beloved,  like " 

He  was  just  swimming  into  his  vocal  stride  when 
she  cut  him  short  decisively: 

"It  isn't  that  way  with  me,  Manuel.  I  should 
tell  you  if  I  knew.  Tell  me  what  love  is,  my 
cousin,  and  I  may  find  an  answer." 

He  was  off  again  in  another  lover's  rhapsody. 
This  time  there  was  a  smile  almost  of  amusement 
in  her  eyes  as  she  listened. 

"If  it  is  like  that,  I  don't  think  I  love  you, 
Manuel.  I  don't  think  poetry  about  you,  and  I 
don't  dream  about  you.  Life  isn't  a  desert  when 
you  are  away,  though  I  like  having  you  here.  I 
don't  believe  I  care  for  you  that  way,  not  if  love 
is  what  the  poets  and  my  cousin  Manuel  say  it  is." 

Her  eyes  had  been  fixed  absently  now  and  again 
on  an  approaching  wagon.  It  passed  on  the  road 
below  them,  and  she  saw,  as  she  looked  down,  that 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        115 

her  vaqnero  Pedro  lay  in  the  bottom  of  it  upon 
some  hay. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Are  you  hurt?"  she 
-called  down. 

The  lad  who  was  driving  looked  up,  and  flashed 
a  row  of  white  teeth  in  a  smile  of  reassurance  to 
his  mistress. 

"It  is  Pedro,  dona.  He  tried  to  ride  that  horse 
Teddy,  and  it  threw  him.  Before  it  could  kill  him, 
the  Americano  jumped  in  and  saved  his  life." 

"What  American?"  she  asked  quickly;  but  al- 
ready she  knew  by  the  swift  beating  of  her  heart. 

"Senor  Muir;  the  devil  fly  away  with  him,"  re- 
plied the  boy  loyally. 

Already  his  mistress  was  descending  toward  him 
with  her  sure  stride,  Don  Manuel  and  his  suit  for- 
gotten in  the  interest  of  this  new  development  of 
the  feud.  She  made  the  boy  go  over  the  tale 
minutely,  asking  questions  sometimes  when  she 
wanted  fuller  details. 

Meanwhile,  Manuel  Pesquiera  waited,  fuming. 
Most  certainly  this  fellow  Gordon  was  very  much 
in  the  way.  Jealousy  began  to  add  its  sting  to 
the  other  reasons  good  for  hastening  his  revenge. 

When  Valencia  turned  again  to  her  cousin  her 
eyes  were  starry. 

"He  is  brave — this  man.    Is  he  not  ?"  she  cried. 


116        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

It  happened  that  Don  Manuel,  too,  was  a  rider 
in  a  thousand.  He  thought  that  Fate  had  been  un- 
kind to  refuse  him  this  chance  his  enemy  had 
found.  But  Pesquiera  was  a  gentleman,  and  his 
answer  came  ungrudgingly: 

"My  cousin,  he  is  a  hero — as  I  told  you  before." 

"But  you  think  him  base,"  she  cried  quickly. 

"I  let  the  facts  speak  for  me,"  he  shrugged. 

"Do  they  condemn  him — absolutely?  I  think 
not." 

She  was  a  creature  of  impulse,  too  fine  of  spirit 
to  be  controlled  by  the  caution  of  speech  that  con- 
vention demands.  She  would  do  justice  to  her  foe, 
no  matter  how  Manuel  interpreted  it. 

What  the  young  man  did  think  was  that  she  was 
the  most  adorable  and  desirable  of  earth's  dwellers, 
the  woman  he  must  win  at  all  hazards. 

"He  came  here  a  spy,  under  a  false  name.  Surely 
you  do  not  forget  that,  Valencia,"  he  said. 

"I  do  not  forget,  either,  that  we  flung  his  ex- 
planations in  his  face;  refused  him  the  common 
justice  of  a  hearing.  Had  we  given  him  a  chance, 
all  might  have  been  well." 

"My  cousin  is  generous,"  Manuel  smiled  bitterly. 

"I  would  be  just." 

"Be  both,  my  beloved,  to  poor  Manuel  Pesquiera, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        117 

an  unhappy  wreck  on  the  ocean  of  love,  seeking  in 
vain  for  the  harbor." 

"There  are  many  harbors,  Manuel,  for  the  brave 
sailor.  If  one  is  closed,  another  is  open.  He  hoists 
sail,  and  beats  across  the  main  to  another  port." 

"For  some.  But  there  are  others  who  will  to 
one  port  or  none.  I  am  of  those." 

When  she  left  him  it  was  with  the  feeling  that 
Don  Manuel  would  be  hard  hit,  if  she  found  her- 
self unable  to  respond  to  his  love. 

He  was  not  like  this  American,  competent,  ener- 
getic, full  of  the  turbulent  life  of  a  new  nation 
which  turns  easily  from  defeat  to  fresh  victory. 

Her  heart  was  full  of  sympathy,  and -even  pity, 
for  him.  But  these  are  only  akin  to  love. 

It  was  not  long  before  Valencia  began  to  sus- 
pect that  she  had  not  been  told  the  whole  truth 
about  the  affair  of  the  outlaw  horse.  There  was 
some  air  of  mystery,  of  expectation,  among  her 
vaqueros. 

At  her  approach,  conversation  became  suspended, 
and  perceptibly  shifted  to  other  topics.  Moreover, 
Pedro  was  troubled  in  his  mind,  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  the  extent  of  his  wound. 

She  knew  it  would  be  no  use  to  question  him; 
but  she  made  occasion  soon  to  send  for  Juan  Gar- 
diez,  the  lad  who  had  driven  him  home. 


118        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

From  the  doorway  of  the  living-room  Juan 
presently  ducked  a  bow  at  her. 

"The  senorita  sent  for  me?" 

"Yes.     Come  in,  Juan.     Take  that  chair." 

Now,  though  Juan  had  often  sat  down  in  the 
kitchen,  he  had  never  before  been  invited  to  seat 
himself  in  this  room.  Wherefore,  the  warm  smile 
that  now  met  him,  and  went  with  the  invitation, 
filled  him  with  a  more  than  mild  surprise.  Gin- 
gerly he  perched  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair, 
twirling  his  dusty  sombrero  round  and  round  as  a 
relief  to  his  embarrassment. 

"I  am  sorry,  Juan,  that  you  don't  like  me  or  trust 
me  any  longer,"  his  mistress  began. 

"But,  dona,  I  do,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  nearly 
falling  from  his  chair  in  amazement. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No ;  I  can  see  you  don't.  None  of  you  do.  You 
keep  secrets  from  me.  You  whisper  and  hide 
things." 

"But,  no,  senorita " 

"Yes.  I  can  see  it  plainly.  My  people  do  not 
love  me.  I  must  go  away  from  them,  since " 

Juan,  having  in  his  tender  boyish  heart  a  great 
love  for  his  dona,  could  not  stand  this. 

"No,  no,  no,  senorita!  It  is  not  so.  I  do  assure 
you  it  is  a  mistake.  There  is  nothing  about  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        119 

cattle,  nothing  about  the  sheep  you  do  not  know.  It 
is  all  told— all." 

"Muy  bien.  Yet  you  conceal  what  happened  yes- 
terday to  Pedro." 

"He  was  thrown " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"I  don't  want  to  know  that  again.  Tell  me  what 
is  in  the  air;  what  is  planned  for  Senor  Gordon; 
what  Pedro  has  to  do  with  it?  Tell  me,  or  leave 
me  to  know  my  people  no  longer  love  me." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  and  let  his  eyes  fall  be- 
fore her  clear  gaze. 

"I  can  tell  nothing." 

"Look  at  me,  Juan,"  she  commanded,  and  waited 
till  he  obeyed.  "Pedro  it  was  that  shot  at  this  man 
Gordon.  Is  it  not  so?" 

His  eyes  grew  wide. 

"Some  one  has  told  ?"  he  said  questioningly. 

"No  matter.  It  was  he.  Yesterday  the  Amer- 
ican saved  his  life.  Surely  Pedro  does  not  still " 

She  did  not  finish  in  words,  but  her  eyes  chiseled 
into  his  stolid  will  to  keep  silent. 

"The  stranger  invites  evil.  He  would  rob  the 
senorita  and  us  all.  He  has  said  he  would  horse- 
whip Pedro.  He  rides  up  and  down  the  valley, 
taunting  us  with  his  laugh.  Is  he  a  god,  and  are  we 
slaves  ?" 


120        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"He  said  he  would  horsewhip  Pedro,  did  he?" 

"Si  senorita;  when  Pedro  told  him  to  take  his 
life,  since  it  was  his." 

"And  this  was  after  Pedro  had  been  thrown?" 

"Directly  after.  The  American  is  a  devil,  dona. 
He  rode  that  man-killer  like  Satan.  Did  he  not  al- 
ready know  that  it  was  Pedro  who  shot  at  him? 
Is  not  Pedro  a  sure  shot,  and  did  he  not  miss  twice  ? 
Twice,  senorita;  which  makes  it  certain  that  this 
Senor  Gordon  is  a  devil." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Juan.  I  want  to  know  how 
he  came  to  tell  Pedro  that  he  would  whip  him." 

"He  came  up  to  the  piazza,  when  he  had  broken 
the  heart  of  that  other  devil,  the  man-killer,  and 
Pedro  was  sitting  there.  Then  Pedro  told  him 
that  he  was  the  one  who  had  shot  at  him,  but  he 
only  laughed.  He  always  laughs,  this  fiend.  He 
knew  it  already,  just  as  he  knows  everything.  Then 
it  was  he  said  he  had  saved  the  boy  to  whip  him." 

"And  that  is  all?" 

"For  Dios — all,"  shrugged  the  lad. 

"Are  there  others  beside  you  that  believe  this 
nonsense  about  the  American  being  in  league  with 
evil?" 

"It  is  not  nonsense,  senorita,  begging  your  par- 
don," protested  Juan  earnestly.  "And  Ferdinand 
and  Pablo  and  Sebastian,  they  all  believe  it." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        121 

Valencia  knew  this  complicated  the  situation. 
These  simple  peons  would  do,  under  the  impulsion 
of  blind  bigotry,  what  they  would  hesitate  to  do 
otherwise.  Let  them  think  him  a  devil,  and  they 
would  stick  at  nothing  to  remove  him. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  she  must  keep  in- 
formed of  the  movements  of  her  people.  Other- 
wise she  would  not  be  able  to  frustrate  them. 

"Juan,  if  this  man  is  really  what  you  think,  he 
will  work  magic  to  destroy  those  who  oppose  him. 
It  will  not  be  safe  for  any  of  my  people  to  set 
themselves  against  him.  I  know  a  better  way  to 
attack  him.  I  want  to  talk  with  Pablo  and  Sebas- 
tian. You  must  work  with  me.  If  they  try  to  do 
anything,  let  me  know  at  once;  otherwise  they  will 
be  in  great  danger.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Si,  senorita." 

"And  will  you  let  me  know,  quietly,  without  tell- 
ing them?" 

"Si,  senorita." 

"That  is  good.  Now,  I  know  my  Juan  trusts 
and  loves  his  mistress.  You  have  done  well.  Go, 
now." 

From  the  point  of  view  of  her  people  the  girl 
knew  it  was  all  settled.  If  the  stranger  whipped 
Pedro,  the  boy  would  kill  him  unless  he  used  magic 
to  prevent  it.  If  he  did  use  it,  they  must  con- 


182        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

trive  to  nullify  his  magic.  There  was,  too,  Don 
Manuel,  who  would  surely  strike  soon,  and  how- 
ever the  encounter  might  terminate,  it  was  a  thing 
to  dread  miserably. 

But,  though  her  misery  was  acute,  she  was  of  a 
temperament  too  hopeful  and  impulsive  to  give  up 
to  despair  so  long  as  action  was  possible.  While 
she  did  not  yet  know  what  she  could  do,  she  was 
not  one  to  sit  idle  while  events  hurried  to  a  crisis. 

Meantime  she  had  her  majordomo  order  a  horse 
saddled  for  her  to  ride  over  to  Corbett's  for  the 
mail. 


CHAPTER   X 

MR.    AINSA    DELIVERS    A    MESSAGE 

Back  to  Davis,  who  had  stopped  to  tighten  his 
saddle-girth,  came  Dick  Gordon's  rather  uncertain 
tenor  in  rollicking  song : 

"Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 
Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd — 
Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I 
Kissed  'er  where  she  stud!" 

"There  he  goes,  advertising  himself  for  a  target 
to  every  greaser  in  the  county.  Pity  he  can't  ride 
along  decent,  if  he's  got  to  ride  at  all  in  these 
hills,  where  every  gulch  may  be  a  trap,"  grumbled 
the  old  miner. 

He  jerked  the  leather  strap  down  with  a  final 
tug,  pulled  himself  to  the  saddle,  and  cantered  after 
his  friend. 

"Elephints  a  pilin'  teak 
In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 

Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you 
Was  'arf  afraid  to  speak!" 
123 


124        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"No  danger  of  the  silence  hanging  heavy  here 
while  you're  around  trying  to  be  a  whole  opery 
troupe  all  by  your  lonesome,"  suggested  Davis. 
"Seems  to  me  if  you  got  to  trapse  round  this  here 
country  hunting  for  that  permanent  residence,  it 
ain't  necessary  to  disturb  the  Sabbath  calm  so  on- 
f  eelin'.  I  don't  seem  to  remember  hearing  any  great 
demand  for  an  encore  after  the  rendering  of  the 
first  verse." 

"You  do  ce'tainly  remind  me  of  a  hen  with  one 
chick,  Steve,"  laughed  Dick. 

"I  ain't  worrying  about  you  none.  It's  my  own 
scalp  kinder  hangs  loose  every  time  you  make  one 
of  your  fool-plays,"  explained  the  other. 

"Go  pipe  that  up  to  your  granny.  Think  I  ain't 
learned  my  A  B  C's  about  my  dry-nurse  yet?" 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  gold  camp  to-morrow." 

"You  been  saying  that  ever  since  you  came  here. 
Why  don't  you  go,  old  Calamity  Prophet?" 

"Well,  I  am.    Going  to-morrow." 

"You've  hollered  wolf  too  often,  Steve.  I'll  be- 
lieve it  when  I  see  it." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  behave?  What's  the  use 
of  making  a  holy  Caruso  of  yourself?  Nobody 
ain't  ever  pined  to  hear  you  tune  up,  anyhow." 

"All  right.  Mum's  the  word,  old  hoss.  I'll  be 
as  solemn  as  if  I  was  going  to  my  own  funeral." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        125 

"I  ain't  persuaded  yet  you're  not." 

"I'm  right  fully  persuaded.  Hallo!  Stranger 
visiting  at  Corbett's.  Guess  I'll  unlimber  the  ar- 
tillery." 

They  dismounted,  and,  before  turning  over  his 
horse  to  Yeager,  Dick  unstrapped  from  the  saddle 
his  rifle.  Nowadays  he  never  for  a  moment  was 
separated  from  some  weapon  of  defense.  For  he 
knew  that  an  attack  upon  his  life  was  almost  a 
certainty  in  the  near  future.  Though  his  manner 
was  debonair,  he  saw  to  it  that  nobody  got  a  chance 
to  tamper  with  his  guns. 

"Make  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Ramon  Ainsa, 
gentlemen.  Mr.  Gordon — Mr.  Davis,"  said  Cor- 
bett,  standing  in  the  doorway  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

Mr.  Ainsa,  a  very  young  man  with  the  hint  of 
a  black  mustache  over  his  boyish  mouth,  clicked 
his  heels  together  and  bowed  deeply.  He  expressed 
himself  as  delighted,  but  did  not  offer  to  shake 
hands.  He  was  so  stiff  that  Dick  wanted  to  ask 
him  whether  the  poker  he  had  swallowed  was  indi- 
gestible. 

"I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  to  Mr.  Richard 
Muir  Gordon,"  he  said  with  another  bow. 

"My  name,"  acknowledged  its  owner.  "You 
ain't  missed  a  letter  of  it.  Must  have  been  at  the 
christening,  I  expect." 


126        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"A  message  from  Don  Manuel  Pesquiera." 

"Good  enough.  That's  right  friendly  of  him. 
How's  the  don?" 

And  Dick,  the  sparkle  of  malicious  humor  gleam- 
ing in  his  eye,  shook  Mr.  Ainsa  warmly  by  the 
hand,  in  spite  of  that  gentleman's  effort  to  escape. 

The  messenger  sidestepped  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  began  again,  very  red : 

"Don  Manuel  considers  himself  deeply  insulted, 
and  desires  through  me,  his  friend,  to  present  this* 
note." 

Dick  looked  at  the  envelope,  and  back  at  the 
youth  who  had  handed  it  to  him,  after  which  he 
crowded  in  and  pump-handled  the  other's  arm 
again. 

"That's  awfully  good  of  him,  Mr.  'Tain't-so." 

"My  name  is  Ainsa,  at  your  service,"  corrected 
the  New  Mexican. 

"Beg  pardon — Ainsa.  I  expect  I  hadn't  ought  to 
have  irrigated  the  don  so  thorough,  but  it's  real 
good  of  him  to  overlook  it  and  write  me  a  friendly 
note.  It's  uncommon  handsome  of  him  after  I  dis- 
arranged his  laundry  so  abrupt." 

"If  the  senor  will  read  the  letter — "  interrupted 
the  envoy  desperately. 

"Ce'tainly.  But  let  me  offer  you  something  to 
drink  first,  Mr.  Ain't-so." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        127 

"Ainsa." 

"Ainsa,  I  should  say.  A  plain  American  has  to 
go  some  to  round  up  and  get  the  right  brand  on 
some  of  these  blue-blooded  names  of  yours.  What'll 
it  be?" 

"Thank  you.  I  am  not  thirsty.  I  prefer  not." 
With  which  Mr.  Ainsa  executed  another  bow. 

"Just  as  you  say,  colonel.  But  you'll  let  me  know 
if  you  change  your  mind." 

Dick  indicated  a  chair  to  his  visitor,  and  took 
another  himself;  then  leisurely  opened  the  epistle 
and  read  it.  After  he  had  done  so  he  handed  it  to 
Davis. 

"This  is  for  you,  too,  Steve.  The  don  is  awfully 
anxious  to  have  you  meet  Mr.  Ainsa  and  have  a 
talk  with  him,"  chuckled  Gordon. 

"  'To  arrange  a  meeting  with  your  friend.'  Why, 
it's  a  duel  he  means,  Dick." 

"That's  what  I  gathered.  We're  getting  right  up 
in  society.  A  duel's  more  etiquettish  than  bridge- 
whist,  Steve.  Ain't  you  honored,  being  invited  to 
one.  You're  to  be  my  second,  you  see." 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  do,"  exploded  the  old  miner 
promptly. 

"Sho!    It  ain't  hard,  when  you  learn  the  steps." 

"I  ain't  going  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Tommyrot !  That's  what  I  call  it." 


128        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Don't  say  it  so  loud,  Steve,  or  you'll  hurt  Mr. 
Ainsa's  feelings,"  chided  his  partner. 

"Think  I'm  going  to  make  a  monkey  of  myself 
at  my  age  ?" 

Dick  turned  mournfully  to  the  messenger  of  war. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  off,  Mr.  Ainsa.  My  second  says 
he  won't  play." 

"We  shall  be  very  glad  to  furnish  you  a  second, 
sir." 

"All  right,  and  while  you're  at  it  furnish  a  prin- 
cipal, too.  I'm  an  American.  I  write  my  address 
Cripple  Creek,  Colorado,  U.  S.  A.  We  don't  fight 
duels  in  my  country  any  more.  They've  gone  out 
with  buckled  shoes  and  knee-pants,  Mr.  Ainsa." 

"Do  I  understand  that  Mr.  Gordon  declines  to 
meet  my  friend  on  the  field  of  honor?" 

"That's  the  size  of  it." 

"I  am  then  instruct'  to  warn  you  to  go  armed,  as 
my  friend  will  punish  your  insolence  at  sight  in- 
formally." 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  Mrs.  Corbett, 
flushed  with  the  vain  chase  of  her  fleeing  brood  of 
chickens,  came  perspiring  round  the  house.  Her 
large,  round  person,  not  designed  by  nature  for  such 
arduous  exercise,  showed  signs  of  fatigue. 

"I  declare,  if  them  chickens  ain't  got  out,  and  me 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        129 

wanting  two  for  supper,"  she  panted,  arms  on  her 
ample  hips. 

"That's  too  bad.  Let  me  chase  them,"  volun- 
teered Dick. 

He  grasped  his  rifle,  took  a  quick,  careless  aim, 
and  fired.  A  long-legged,  flying  cockerel  keeled 
over  and  began  to  kick. 

"Gracious  me!"  ejaculated  the  woman. 

"Two,  did  you  say?"  asked  the  man  behind  the 
gun. 

"I  said  two." 

Again  the  rifle  cracked.  A  second  chicken 
flopped  down,  this  one  with  its  head  shot  off  at  the 
neck. 

The  eyes  of  the  minister  of  war  were  large  with 
amazement.  The  distance  had  been  seventy  yards, 
if  it  had  been  a  step.  When  little  Jimmie  Corbett 
came  running  forward  with  the  two  dead  cockerels 
a  slight  examination  showed  that  the  first  had  also 
been  shot  through  the  neck. 

Dick  smiled. 

"Shall  I  shoot  another  and  send  it  for  a  present  to 
Don  Manuel,  Jimmie?"  he  pleasantly  inquired. 

Mr.  Ainsa  met  his  persiflage  promptly. 

"I  do  assure  you,  senor,  it  will  not  be  at  all  neces- 
sair.  Don  Manuel  can  shoot  chickens  for  himself 
— and  larger  game." 


130        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I'm  sure  he'll  find  good  hunting,"  the  other  gave 
him  back,  looking  up  genially. 

"He  is  a  good  hunter,  senor." 

"Don't  doubt  it  a  bit,"  granted  the  cordial  Anglo- 
Saxon.  "Trouble  is  that  even  the  best  hunters  can't 
tell  whether  they  are  going  to  bring  back  the  bear, 
or  Mr.  Bear  is  going  to  get  them.  That's  what 
makes  it  exciting,  I  reckon." 

"Is  Don  Manuel  going  bear-hunting?"  asked 
Jimmie,  with  a  newly  aroused  boy  interest. 

"Yes,  Jimmie.  One's  been  bothering  him  right 
considerable,  and  he's  going  gunning  for  it,"  ex- 
plained Dick. 

"Gee !    I  hope  he  gets  it." 

"And  I  hope  he  don't,"  laughed  Gordon.  "Must 
you  really  be  going,  colonel?  Can't  I  do  a  thing 
for  you  in  the  refreshment  line  first?  Well,  so 
long.  Good  hunting  for  your  friend.  See  him 
later." 

Thus  cheerfully  did  the  irrepressible  Gordon 
speed  Mr.  Ainsa  on  his  way. 

That  young  man  had  somehow  the  sense  of  hav- 
ing been  too  youthful  to  cope  with  the  gay  Gordon. 


Valencia  Valdes  had  not  ridden  far  when  she  met 
Ramon  Ainsa  returning  from  his  mission.    He  was 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        131 

a  sunny  young  fellow,  whom  she  had  known  since 
they  had  been  children  together. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  he  bore  himself  in  a  man- 

-  ner  that  suggested  something  important  on  hand. 

His  boyish  mouth  was  set  severely,  and  he  greeted 

her  with  a  punctilio  quite  unusual.     At  once  she 

jumped  shrewdly  to  a  conclusion. 

"Did  you  bring  our  mail  back  with  you  from 
Corbett's?"  she  innocently  inquired. 

"Yes,  senorita." 

"Since  when  have  I  been  'senorita'  to  you,  Ra- 
mon?" 

"Valencia,  I  should  say."    He  blushed. 

"Indeed,  I  should  think  so.  It  hasn't  been  so  long 
since  you  called  me  Val." 

"Ah !    Those  happy  days !"  he  sighed. 

"Fiddlesticks !"  she  promptly  retorted.  "Don't  be 
a  goose.  You're  not  in  the  sere  and  yellow  yet. 
Don't  forget  you'll  not  be  twenty-one  till  next 
month." 

"One  counts  time  not  by  years,  but  by  its  full- 
ness," he  said,  in  the  manner  of  one  who  could  tell 
volumes  if  he  would. 

"I  see.  And  what  has  been  happening  of  such 
tremendous  importance?" 

Mr.  Ainsa  attempted  to  twirl  his  mustache,  and 
was  as  silent  as  honor  demanded. 


132        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Pooh !  It's  no  secret.  Did  you  find  Mr.  Gordon 
at  home  ?" 

"At  home?"  he  gasped. 

"Well,  at  Corbett's,  then?" 

"I  didn't  know Who  told  you — er " 

"I'm  not  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb,  you  know." 

"But  you  certainly  have  a  great  deal  of  imagina- 
tion," he  said,  recovering  himself. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  carried  a  challenge  to  this 
American  from  Don  Manuel.  Now,  I  want  to  know 
the  answer." 

"Really,  my  dear  girl " 

"You  needn't  try  to  evade  me.  I'm  going  to 
know,  if  I  stay  here  all  night." 

"It's  a  hold-up,  as  the  Americans  say,"  he  joked. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  call  it.  You  have  got  to 
tell  me,  you  know." 

"But  I  can't  tell  you,  nina.    It  isn't  mine  to  tell." 

"Anyhow,  you  can't  keep  me  from  guessing,"  she 
said,  with  an  inspiration. 

"No,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  very  well,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"The  American  accepted  the  challenge  immedi- 
ately." 

"But  he  didn't,"  broke  out  the  young  man. 

"Then  he  refused?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        133 

"That's  a  little  obvious  now,"  replied  Ramon, 
with  a  touch  of  chagrin. 

"He  was  very  angry  about  it,  and  threatened  to 
call  the  law  to  his  aid." 

Her  friend  surrendered  at  discretion,  and  broke 
into  a  laugh  of  delight. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  fellow,  Val.  He  seemed  to 
think  it  was  all  a  joke.  He  must  have  known  why 
I  was  there,  but  before  I  could  get  in  a  word  he  got 
hold  of  my  hand  and  shook  it  till  I  wanted  to  shriek 
with  the  pain.  He's  got  a  grip  like  a  bear.  And  he 
persisted  in  assuming  we  were  the  best  of  friends. 
Wouldn't  read  the  letter  at  all." 

"But  after  he  did?" 

"Said  duels  were  not  fashionable  among  his  peo- 
ple any  more." 

"He  is  very  sensible,  but  I'm  afraid  Manuel  won't 
rest  satisfied  with  that,"  the  girl  sighed. 

"I  hinted  as  much,  and  told  him  to  go  armed. 
What  do  you  think  the  madman  did  then?" 

"I  can  never  guess." 

Ramon  retailed  the  chicken-shooting  episode. 

"You  were  to  mention  that  to  Manuel,  I  sup- 
pose?" the  girl  said  thoughtfully. 

"So  I  understood.    He  was  giving  fair  warning." 

"But  Manuel  won't  be  warned." 


134        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"When  he  hears  of  it  he'll  be  more  anxious  than 
ever  to  fight." 

Valencia  nodded.    "A  spur  to  a  willing  horse." 

"If  he  knew  he  would  be  killed  it  would  make  no 
difference  to  him.  He  is  quite  fearless." 

"Quite." 

"But  he  is  a  very  good  shot,  too.  You  do  not 
need  to  be  alarmed  for  him." 

"Oh,  no!  Not  at  all,"  the  girl  answered  scorn- 
fully. "He  is  only  my  distant  cousin,  anyhow — and 
my  lover." 

"It  is  hard,  Val.  Perhaps  I  might  pick  a  quarrel 
with  this  American  and " 

She  caught  him  up  sharply,  but  he  forgave  it 
when  he  saw  her  white  misery. 

"Don't  you  dare  think  of  it,  Ramon  Ainsa.  One 
would  think  nobody  in  the  valley  had  any  business 
except  fighting  with  this  man.  What  has  he  done 
to  you?  Or  to  these  others?  You  are  very  brave, 
all  of  you,  when  you  know  you  are  a  hundred  to 
one.  I  suppose  you,  too,  will  want  to  shoot  him 
from  ambush?" 

This  bit  of  feminine  injustice  hurt  the  young 
man,  but  he  only  said  quietly : 

"No;  I  don't  think  I  would  do  that." 

Impulsively  she  put  out  her  hand. 

"Forgive  me,  Ramon.     I   don't  mean  that,  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        135 

course,  but  I'm  nearly  beside  myself.  Why  must 
all  this  bad  will  and  bloodshed  come  into  our  happy 
little  valley?  If  we  must  have  trouble  why  can't 
we  let  the  law  settle  it?  I  thought  you  were  my 
friends — you  and  Manuel  and  my  people — but  be- 
tween you  I  am  going  to  be  made  unhappy  for  life." 

She  broke  down  suddenly  and  began  to  sob.  The 
lad  slipped  to  the  ground  and  went  quickly  to  her, 
putting  an  arm  around  her  waist  across  the  saddle. 

"Don't  cry,  Val.  We  all  love  you — of  course  we 
do.  How  can  we  help  it  ?  It  will  all  come  right  yet. 
Don't  cry,  nina." 

"How  can  it  come  right,  with  all  of  you  working 
to  make  things  wrong?"  she  sobbed. 

"Perhaps  the  stranger  will  go  away." 

"He  won't.  He  is  a  man,  and  he  won't  let  you 
drive  him  out." 

"We'll  find  some  way,  Val,  to  save  Manuel  for 
you." 

"But  it  isn't  only  Manuel.  I  don't  want  any  of 
you  hurt — you  or  anybody — not  even  this  Mr.  Gor- 
don. Oh,  Ramon,  help  me  to  stop  this  wicked  busi- 
ness." 

"If  you  can  tell  me  how." 

She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief,  as  a 
sign  that  her  weakness  was  past. 

"We  must  find  a  way.     Do  you  know,  my  own 


136        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

people  are  in  a  dangerous  mood?  They  think  this 
man  is  some  kind  of  a  demon.  I  shall  talk  to  them 
to-night.  And  you  must  send  Manuel  to  me.  Per- 
haps he  may  listen  to  me." 

Ainsa  agreed,  though  he  felt  sure  that  even  she 
could  not  induce  his  friend  to  withdraw  from  a  posi- 
tion which  he  felt  his  honor  called  him  to  take. 

Nor  did  the  mistress  of  the  valley  find  it  easy  to 
lead  her  tenants  to  her  way  of  thinking.  They  were 
respectful,  outwardly  acquiescent,  but  the  girl  saw, 
with  a  sinking  heart,  that  they  remained  of  their 
own  opinion.  Whether  he  were  man  or  devil,  they 
were  determined  to  make  an  end  of  Gordon's  in- 
trusion. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE  SIXTEENTH   CENTURY  AND  THE  TWENTIETH 

It  was  the  second  day  after  Pesquiera's  challenge 
that  his  rival  was  called  to  Santa  Fe,  the  capital  of 
the  State,  to  hold  a  conference  with  his  lawyers 
about  the  progress  of  the  suit  of  ouster  against 
those  living  on  the  Moreno  grant.  Gordon  knew 
how  acute  was  the  feeling  of  the  residents  of  the 
valley  against  him.  The  Corbetts,  whose  home- 
stead was  not  included  in  either  the  original  Valdes 
or  Moreno  grant,  reported  daily  to  him  whatever 
came  to  their  ears.  He  could  see  that  the  impres- 
sion was  strong  among  the  Mexicans  that  their 
champion,  Dona  Maria  as  they  called  her,  would 
be  worsted  in  the  courts  if  the  issue  ever  came  to 
final  trial. 

To  live  under  the  constant  menace  of  an  attack 
from  ambush  is  a  strain  upon  the  best  of  nerves. 
Dick  and  his  friend  Davis  rode  out  of  the  valley 
to  meet  the  Santa  Fe  stage  with  a  very  sensible 
relief.  For  a  few  days,  anyhow,  they  would  be 
137 


138        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

back  where  they  could  see  the  old  Stars  and  Stripes 
flutter,  where  feudal  retainers  and  sprouts  of  Span- 
ish aristocracy  were  not  lying  in  wait  with  fiery 
zeal  to  destroy  the  American  interloper. 

They  reached  the  little  city  late,  but  soon  after 
sunup  Gordon  rose,  took  a  bath,  dressed,  and 
strolled  out  into  the  quaint  old  town  which  lays 
claim  to  being  the  earliest  permanent  European  set- 
tlement in  the  country.  It  was  his  first  visit  to  the 
place,  and  as  he  poked  his  nose  into  out  of  the  way 
corners  Dick  found  every  step  of  his  walk  interest- 
ing. 

Through  narrow,  twisted  streets  he  sauntered, 
along  unpaved  roads  bounded  by  century-old  adobe 
houses.  His  walk  took  him  past  the  San  Miguel 
Church,  said  to  be  the  oldest  in  America.  A 
chubby-faced  little  priest  was  watering  some  ge- 
raniums outside,  and  he  showed  Dick  through  the 
mission,  opening  the  door  of  the  church  with  one 
of  a  bunch  of  large  keys  which  hung  suspended 
from  his  girdle.  The  little  man  went  through  the 
usual  patter  of  the  guide  with  the  facility  of  long 
practice. 

The  church  was  built,  he  said,  in  1540,  though 
Bandelier  inaccurately  sets  the  date  much  later. 
The  roof  was  destroyed  by  the  Pueblo  Indians  in 
1680  during  an  attack  upon  the  settlement,  at  which 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        139 

time  the  inhabitants  took  refuge  within  the  mission 
walls.  These  are  from  three  to  five  feet  thick.  The 
arrows  of  the  natives  poured  through  the  windows. 
The  sefior  could  still  see  the  holes  in  the  pictures, 
could  he  not?  Penuelo  restored  the  church  in  1710, 
as  could  be  read  by  the  inscription  carved  upon  the 
gallery  beam.  It  would  no  doubt  interest  the  seiior 
to  know  that  one  of  the  paintings  was  by  Cimabue, 
done  in  1287,  and  that  the  seven  hundred  pound  bell 
was  cast  in  Spain  during  the  year  1356  and  had 
been  dragged  a  thousand  miles  across  the  deserts 
of  the  new  world  by  the  devoted  pioneer  priests 
who  carried  the  Cross  to  the  simple  natives  of  that 
region. 

Gordon  went  blinking  out  of  the  San  Miguel 
mission  into  a  world  that  basked  indolently  in  a 
pleasant  glow  of  sunshine.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
here  time  had  stood  still.  This  impression  remained 
with  him  during  his  tramp  back  to  the  hotel.  He 
passed  trains  of  faggot-laden  burros,  driven  by 
Mexicans  from  Tesuque  and  by  Indians  from  ad- 
joining villages,  the  little  animals  so  packed  around 
their  bellies  with  firewood  that  they  reminded  him 
of  caricatures  of  beruffed  Elizabethan  dames  of  the 
olden  days. 

Surely  this  old  town,  which  seemed  to  be  lying 
in  a  peaceful  siesta  for  centuries  unbroken,  was  an 


140        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

unusual  survival  from  the  buried  yesterdays  of  his- 
tory. It  was  hard  to  believe,  for  instance,  that  the 
Governor's  Palace,  a  long  one-story  adobe  structure 
stretching  across  one  entire  side  of  the  plaza,  had 
been  the  active  seat  of  so  much  turbulent  and  tragic 
history,  that  for  more  than  three  hundred  years  it 
had  been  occupied  continuously  by  Spanish,  Mexi- 
can, Indian,  and  American  governors.  Its  walls 
had  echoed  the  noise  of  many  a  bloody  siege  and 
hidden  many  an  execution  and  assassination.  From 
this  building  the  old  Spanish  cavaliers  Onate  and 
Vicente  de  Salivar  and  Penalosa  set  out  on  their 
explorations.  From  it  issued  the  order  to  execute 
forty-eight  Pueblo  prisoners  upon  the  plaza  in 
front.  Governor  Armijo  had  here  penned  his  de- 
fiance to  General  Kearney,  who  shortly  afterward 
nailed  upon  the  flagpole  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  The 
famous  novel  "Ben  Hur"  was  written  in  one  of 
these  historic  rooms. 

But  the  twentieth  century  had  leaned  across  the 
bridge  of  time  to  shake  hands  with  the  sixteenth.  A 
new  statehouse  had  been  built  after  the  fashion  of 
new  Western  commonwealths,  and  the  old  Palace 
was  now  given  over  to  curio  stores  and  offices. 
Everywhere  the  new  era  compromised  with  the  old. 
He  passed  the  office  of  the  lawyer  he  had  come  to 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS         141 

consult,   and  upon  one  side  of  the  sign  ran  the 
legend : 


Despacho 

de 
Thomas  M.  Fitt,  Licendiado. 


Upon  the  other  he  read  an  English  translation 


Law  Office 

of 
Thomas  M.  Fitt,  Attorney. 


Plainly  the  old  civilization  was  beginning  to  disap- 
pear before  an  alert,  aggressive  Americanism. 

At  the  hotel  the  modern  spirit  became  so  pro- 
nounced during  breakfast,  owing  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  a  shoe  and  a  dress-goods  drummer  at  an 
adjoining  table,  that  Gordon's  imagination  escaped 
from  the  tramp  of  Spanish  mailclad  cavalry  and 
from  thoughts  of  the  plots  and  counterplots  that 
had  been  devised  in  the  days  before  American  oc- 
cupancy. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  Dick,  together  with 
Davis,  called  at  the  office  of  his  attorney.  Thomas 


142        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

M.  Fitt,  a  bustling  little  man  with  a  rather  pompous 
manner,  welcomed  his  client  effusively.  He  had 
been  appointed  local  attorney  in  charge  by  Gordon's 
Denver  lawyers,  and  he  was  very  eager  to  make 
the  most  of  such  advertising  as  his  connection  with 
so  prominent  a  case  would  bring. 

He  washed  the  backs  of  his  hands  with  the  palms 
as  he  bowed  his  visitors  to  chairs. 

"I  may  say  that  the  case  is  progressing  favorably 
— very  favorably  indeed,  Mr.  Gordon.  The  papers 
have  been  drawn  and  filed.  We  await  an  answer 
from  the  defendants.  I  anticipate  that  there  will 
be  only  the  usual  court  delays  in  pressing  the  ac- 
tion." 

"We'll  beat  them,  I  suppose,"  Dick  replied,  with  a 
manner  almost  of  indifference. 

"One  can  never  be  positive  in  advance,  but  I'd 
like  to  own  your  claim  to  the  estate,  Mr.  Gordon," 
laughed  the  lawyer  wheezily. 

"Think  we'll  be  able  to  wolf  the  real  owners  out 
of  their  property  all  right,  do  you?" 

Fitt's  smile  went  out  like  the  flame  of  a  burnt 
match.  The  wrinkles  of  laughter  were  ironed  out 
of  his  fat  cheeks.  He  stared  at  his  client  in  sur- 
prise. It  took  him  a  moment  to  voice  the  dignified 
protest  he  felt  necessary. 

"Our  title  is  good  in  law,  Mr.  Gordon.     I  have 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        143 

been  over  the  evidence  very  carefully.  The  court 
decisions  all  lean  our  way.  Don  Bartolome  Valdes, 
the  original  grantee,  failed  to  perfect  his  right  of 
ownership  in  many  ways.  It  is  very  doubtful 
whether  he  himself  had  not  before  his  death  aban- 
doned his  claim.  His  official  acts  appear  to  point 
to  that  conclusion.  Our  case  is  a  very  substantial 
one — very  substantial,  indeed." 

"The  Valdes'  tenants  have  settled  on  the  land, 
grazed  their  flocks  over  it,  bought  farms  here  and 
there  from  the  heirs,  haven't  they?" 

"Exactly.  But  if  the  sellers  cannot  show  a  good 
title — and  my  word  as  a  lawyer  for  it  they  can't. 
Prove  that  in  court  and  all  we'll  need  is  a  writ  of 
ejectment  against  the  present  holders  as  squatters. 

Then "  Fitt  snapped  his  finger  and  thumb  in 

an  airy  gesture  that  swept  the  Valdes'  faction  into 
the  middle  of  the  Pacific. 

"It'll  be  the  story  of  Evangeline  all  over  again, 
won't  it?"  asked  Gordon  satirically. 

"Ah !  You  have  a  kind  heart,  Mr.  Gordon.  Your 
sympathy  does  you  credit.  Still — business  is  busi- 
ness, of  course." 

"Of  course."  Dick  picked  up  a  pen  and  began 
to  jab  holes  aimlessly  into  a  perfectly  good  blotter 
tacked  to  the  table.  "Well,  let's  hear  the  story — 


144.        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

just  a  sketch  of  it.  Why  do  the  rightful  heirs  lose 
out  and  the  villain  gain  possession?" 

Mr.  Fitt  smiled  blandly.  He  had  satisfied  himself 
that  his  client  was  good  pay  and  he  did  not  intend 
to  take  offense.  "It  pleases  you  to  be  facetious, 
Mr.  Gordon.  But  we  all  know  that  what  this  coun- 
try needs — what  such  a  valley  as  the  Rio  Chama 
ought  to  have — is  up  to  date  American  development. 
People  and  conditions  are  in  a  primitive  state. 
When  men  like  you  get  possession  of  the  Moreno 
and  similar  tracts  New  Mexico  will  move  forward 
with  giant  strides  to  its  great  destiny.  Time  does 
not  stand  still.  The  day  of  the  indolent  semi-feudal 
Spanish  system  of  occupancy  has  passed  away. 
New  Mexico  will  no  longer  remain  manana  land. 
You — and  men  like  you — of  broad  ideas,  progres- 
sive, energetic " 

"Quite  a  philanthropist,  ain't  I?"  interrupted 
Gordon,  smiling  lazily.  "Well,  let's  hear  the  yarn, 
Mr.  Fitt." 

The  attorney  gave  up  his  oration  regretfully. 
He  subsided  into  a  chair  and  resumed  the  conversa- 
tional tone. 

"You've  got  to  understand  how  things  were  here 
in  the  old  Spanish  days,  gentlemen.  Don  Bartolome 
for  instance  was  not  merely  a  cattleman.  He  was  a 
grandee,  a  feudal  lord,  a  military  chief  to  all  his 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS         145 

tenants  and  employees.  His  word  was  law.  The 
power  of  life  and  death  lay  in  him." 

Dick  nodded.    "Get  you." 

"The  old  Don  was  pasturing  his  sheep  in  the  Rio 
Chama  valley  and  he  had  started  a  little  village 
there — called  the  place  Torreon,  I  think,  from  a 
high  tower  house  he  had  built  to  overlook  the  valley 
so  that  Indians  could  be  seen  if  they  attempted  an 
attack.  Well,  he  takes  a  notion  that  he'd  better  get 
legal  title  to  the  land  he  was  using,  though  in  those 
days  he  might  have  had  half  of  New  Mexico  for 
his  cattle  and  sheep  as  a  range.  So  he  asks  Facundo 
Megares,  governor  of  the  royal  province,  for  a 
grant  of  land.  The  governor,  anxious  to  please 
him,  orders  the  constitutional  alcalde,  a  person 
named  Jose  Garcia  de  la  Mora,  to  execute  the  act  of 
possession  to  Valdes  of  a  tract  described  as  follows, 
to  wit " 

"I've  heard  the  description,"  cut  in  the  young 
man.  "Well,  did  the  Don  take  possession?" 

"We  claim  that  he  never  did.  He  visited  there, 
and  his  shepherds  undoubtedly  ran  sheep  on  the 
range  covered  by  the  grant.  But  Valdes  and  his 
family  never  actually  resided  on  the  estate.  Other 
points  that  militate  against  the  claim  of  his  de- 
scendants may  be  noted.  First,  that  minor  grants 
of  land,  taken  from  within  the  original  Valdes 


146        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

grant,  were  made  by  the  governor  without  any  pro- 
test on  the  part  of  the  Don.  Second,  that  Don 
Bartolome  himself,  subsequently  Governor  and  Cap- 
tain-General of  the  province  of  New  Mexico,  did, 
in  his  official  capacity  as  President  of  the  Council, 
endorse  at  least  two  other  small  grants  of  land  cut 
out  from  the  heart  of  the  Valdes  estate.  This  goes 
to  show  that  he  did  not  himself  consider  that  he 
owned  the  land,  or  perhaps  he  felt  that  he  had  for- 
feited his  claim." 

"Or  maybe  it  just  showed  that  the  old  gentleman 
was  no  hog,"  suggested  Gordon. 

"I  guess  the  law  will  construe  it  as  a  waiver  of 
his  claim.  It  doesn't  make  any  allowances  for  al- 
truism." 

"I've  noticed  that,"  Gordon  admitted  dryly. 

"A  hew  crowd  of  politicians  got  in  after  Mexico 
became  independent  of  Spain.  The  plums  had  to 
be  handed  out  to  the  friends  of  the  party  in  power. 
So  Manuel  Armijo,  the  last  Mexican  Governor  of 
the  province,  being  a  favorite  of  the  President  of 
that  country  because  he  had  defeated  some  Texal 
Rangers  in  a  battle,  and  on  that  account  endowed 
with  extraordinary  powers,  carved  a  fat  half  million 
acres  out  of  the  Valdes  grant  and  made  a  present  of 
it  to  Jose  Moreno  for  'services  to  the  government 
of  Mexico.'  That's  where  you  come  in  as  heir  to 


your  grandfather,  who  purchased  for  a  song  the 
claim  of  Moreno's  son." 

"My  right  has  been  lying  dormant  twenty-five 
years.  Won't  that  affect  its  legality?" 

"No.  If  we  knock  out  the  ValdeY  grant,  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  prove  the  legality  of  the  Moreno 
one.  It  happens  we  have  evidence  to  show  that  he 
satisfied  all  legal  requirements  by  living  on  the  land 
more  than  four  years.  This  gave  him  patent  in 
perpetuity  subject  to  taxes.  By  the  payment  of 
these  we  can  claim  title."  Fitt  rubbed  his  hands 
and  walked  backward  and  forward  briskly.  "We've 
got  them  sewed  up  tight,  Mr.  Gordon.  The  Su- 
preme Court  has  sustained  our  contention  in  the 
almost  parallel  Baca  case." 

"Fine,"  said  Dick  moodily.  He  knew  it  was  un- 
reasonable for  him  to  be  annoyed  at  his  counsel 
because  the  latter  happened  to  be  an  alert  and  com- 
petent lawyer.  But  somehow  all  his  sympathies 
were  with  Valencia  Valdes  and  her  dependents. 

"If  you'd  like  to  look  at  the  original  documents 
in  the  case,  Mr.  Gordon " 

"I  would." 

"I'll  take  you  up  to  the  State  House  this  after- 
noon. You  can  look  over  them  at  your  leisure.'* 

Davis  laughed  at  his  friend  as  they  walked  back 
to  the  hotel. 


148        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  don't  believe  you  know  yourself  what  you 
want.  You  act  as  if  you'd  rather  lose  than  win  the 
suit." 

"Sometimes  I'm  a  white  man,  Steve.  I  don't 
want  to  grab  other  people's  property  just  because 
some  one  can  dig  up  a  piece  of  paper  that  says  it's 
mine.  We  sit  back  and  roast  the  trusts  to  a  fare- 
you-well  for  hogging  all  there  is  in  sight.  That's 
what  Fitt  and  his  tribe  expect  me  to  do.  I'm 
damned  if  I  will." 


CHAPTER    XII 

"l   BELIEVE  YOU'RE  IN   LOVE  WITH   HER,   TOO" 

It  was  characteristic  of  Dick  Gordon  that  he 
established  at  once  a  little  relation  of  friendliness 
between  him  and  the  young  woman  at  the  State 
House  who  waited  upon  him  with  the  documents  in 
the  Valdes  grant  case.  She  was  a  tall,  slight  girl 
with  amazingly  vivid  eyes  set  in  a  face  scarcely 
pretty.  In  her  manner  to  the  world  at  large  there 
was  an  indifference  amounting  almost  to  insolence. 
She  had  a  way  of  looking  at  people  as  if  they  were 
bits  of  the  stage  setting  instead  of  individuals. 

A  flare  of  interest  had  sparkled  in  her  eyes  when 
Gordon's  fussy  little  attorney  had  mentioned  the 
name  of  his  client,  but  it  had  been  Dick's  genial 
manner  of  boyish  comradeship  that  had  really 
warmed  Miss  Underwood  to  him.  She  did  not  like 
many  people,  but  when  she  gave  her  heart  to  a 
friend  it  was  without  stipulations.  Dick  was  a 
man's  man.  Essentially  he  was  masculine,  virile, 
dominant.  But  the  force  of  him  was  usually  masked 
either  by  his  gay  impudence  or  his  sunny  friendH- 
149 


150        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

ness.  Women  were  drawn  to  his  flashing  smile 
because  they  sensed  the  strength  behind  it. 

Kate  Underwood  could  have  given  a  dozen  rea- 
sons why  she  liked  him.  There  were  for  instance 
the  superficial  ones.  She  liked  the  way  he  tossed 
back  the  tawny  sun-kissed  hair  from  his  eyes,  the 
easy  pantherish  stride  with  which  he  covered  ground 
so  lightly,  the  set  of  his  fine  shoulders,  the  peculiar 
tint  of  his  lean,  bronzed  cheeks.  His  laugh  was 
joyous  as  the  song  of  a  bird  in  early  spring.  It 
made  one  want  to  shout  with  him.  Then,  too,  she 
tremendously  admired  his  efficiency.  To  look  at 
the  hard,  clear  eye,  at  the  clean,  well-packed  build 
of  the  man,  told  the  story.  The  movements  of  his 
strong,  brown  hands  were  sure  and  economical. 
They  dissipated  no  energy.  Every  detail  of  his 
personality  expressed  a  mind  that  did  its  own  think- 
ing swiftly 'and  incisively. 

"It's  curious  about  these  documents  of  the  old 
Valdes  and  Moreno  claims.  They  have  lain  here 
in  the  vaults — that  is,  here  and  at  the  old  Governor's 
Palace — for  twenty  years  and  more  untouched. 
Then  all  at  once  twenty  people  get  interested  in 
them.  Scarce  a  day  passes  that  lawyers  are  not  up 
to  look  over  some  of  the  copies.  You  have  cer- 
tainly stirred  things  up  with  your  suit,  Mr.  Gor- 
don." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        151 

Dick  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  white 
adobe-lined  streets  resting  in  a  placid  coma  of  sun- 
beat. 

"Don't  you  reckon  Santa  Fe  can  stand  a  little 
stirring  up,  Miss  Underwood  ?" 

"Goodness,  yes.  We  all  get  to  be  three  hundred 
years  old  if  we  live  in  this  atmosphere  long  enough." 

The  man's  gaze  shifted.  "You'd  have  to  live  here 
a  right  long  time,  I  reckon." 

A  quick  slant  of  her  gay  eyes  reproached  him. 
"You  don't  have  to  be  so  gallant,  Mr.  Gordon.  The 
State  pays  me  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  wait 
on  you,  anyhow." 

"You  don't  say.  As  much  as  that?  My,  we're 
liable  to  go  bankrupt  in  New  Mexico,  ain't  we? 
And,  if  you  want  to  know,  I  don't  say  nice  things 
to  you  because  I  have  to,  but  because  I  want  to." 

She  laughed  with  a  pretense  at  incredulity.  "In 
another  day  or  two  I'll  find  out  just  what  special 
favor  I'm  able  to  do  Mr.  Gordon.  The  regular 
thing  is  to  bring  flowers  or  candy,  you  know.  Gen- 
erally they  say,  too,  that  there  never  has  been  a  clerk 
holding  this  job  as  fit  for  it  as  I  am." 

"You're  some  clerk,  all  right.  Say,  where  can  I 
find  the  original  of  this  Agua  Caliente  grant,  Miss 
Kate?" 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  went  to  get  him  a 


158        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

certified  copy.  "Only  two  days,  and  he's  using  my 
first  name.  Inside  of  a  week  he'll  be  calling  me 
'Dearie/  "  she  thought.  But  she  knew  very  well 
there  was  no  danger.  This  young  fellow  was  the 
kind  of  man  that  could  be  informal  without  the 
slightest  idea  of  flirting  or  making  love. 

Kate  Underwood's  interest  in  the  fight  between 
the  claimants  for  the  Valdes  and  Moreno  grants 
was  not  based  entirely  upon  her  liking  for  Dick. 
He  learned  this  the  fourth  day  of  his  stay  in  Santa 
Fe. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  were  followed  to  the 
hotel  last  night,  Mr.  Gordon?"  she  asked  him,  as 
soon  as  he  arrived  at  the  State  House. 

His  eyes  met  hers  instantly.  "Was  I  ?  How  do 
you  know  ?" 

"I  left  the  building  just  after  you  did.  Two 
Mexicans  followed  you.  I  don't  know  when  I  first 
suspected  it,  but  I  trailed  along  to  make  sure.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  about  it." 

"Not  a  bit  of  doubt.  Found  it  out  the  first  day 
when  I  left  the  hotel,"  he  told  her  cheerfully. 

"You  knew  it  all  the  time,"  she  cried,  amazed. 

"That  doesn't  prevent  me  from  being  properly 
grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness,"  he  hastened  to 
say. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        153 

"What  are  they  following  you  for?"  she  wanted 
to  know. 

Dick  told  her  something  of  his  experiences  in  the 
Rio  Chama  Valley  without  mentioning  that  part  of 
them  which  had  to  do  with  Miss  Valdes.  At  the 
sound  of  Manuel  Pesquiera's  name  the  eyes  of  the 
girl  flashed.  Dick  had  already  noticed  that  his  name 
was  always  to  her  a  signal  for  repression  of  some 
emotion.  The  eyes  contracted  and  hardened  the 
least  in  the  world.  Some  men  would  not  have  no- 
ticed this,  but  more  than  once  Gordon's  life  had 
hung  upon  the  right  reading  of  such  signs. 

"You  think  that  Mr.  Pesquiera  has  hired  them  to 
watch  you?"  she  suggested. 

"Maybe  he  has  and  maybe  he  hasn't.  Some  of 
those  willing  lads  of  Miss  Valdes  don't  need  any 
hiring.  They  want  to  see  what  I'm  up  to.  They're 
not  overlooking  any  bets." 

"But  they  may  shoot  you." 

He  looked  at  her  drolly.  "They  may,  but  I'll  be 
there  at  the  time.  I'm  not  sleeping  on  the  job,  Miss 
Kate." 

"You  didn't  turn  around  once  yesterday." 

"Hmp!  I  saw  them  out  of  the  edge  of  my  eyes. 
And  when  I  turned  a  corner  I  always  saw  them 
mighty  plain.  They  couldn't  have  come  very  close 
without  my  knowing  it." 


154        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Don  Manuel  is  very  anxious  to  have  Miss  Valdes 
win,  isn't  he?" 

Dick  observed  that  just  below  the  eyes  two  spots 
were  burning  in  the  usually  pale  cheeks. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  simply. 

"Why?" 

"He's  her  friend  and  a  relative." 

It  seemed  to  Gordon  that  there  was  a  touch  of 
defiance  in  the  eyes  that  held  to  his  so  steadily.  She 
was  going  to  find  out  the  truth,  no  matter  what  he 
thought. 

"Is  that  all — nothing  more  than  a  friend  or  a 
relative  ?" 

The  miner's  boyish  laugh  rippled  out.  "You'd 
ought  to  have  been  a  lawyer,  Miss  Kate.  No,  that 
ain't  all.  Don  Manuel  doesn't  make  any  secret  of 
it.  I  don't  know  why  I  should.  He  wants  to  be 
prince  consort  of  the  Valdes  kingdom." 

"Because  of  ...  the  estate?" 

"Lord,  no!  He's  one  man  from  the  ground  up, 
M.  Pesquiera  is.  In  spite  of  the  estates." 

"You  mean  that  he  .  .  .  loves  Valencia  Valdes  ?" 

"Sure  he  does.  Manuel  doesn't  care  much  who 
gets  the  kingdom  if  he  gets  the  princess." 

"Is  she  so  ...  pretty?" 

Dick  stopped  to  consider  this.  "Why,  yes,  I 
reckon  she  is  pretty,  though  I  hadn't  thought  of  it 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        155 

before.  You  see,  pretty  ain't  just  the  word.  She's 
a  queen.  That  is,  she  looks  like  a  queen  ought  to 
but  don't.  Take  her  walk  for  instance:  she  steps 
out  like  as  if  in  another  moment  she  might  fly." 

"That  doesn't  mean  anything.  It's  almost  silly," 
replied  the  downright  Miss  Underwood,  not  with- 
out a  tinge  of  spite. 

"It  means  something  to  me.  I'm  trying  to  give 
you  a  picture  of  her.  But  you'd  have  to  see  her  to 
understand.  When  she's  around  mean  and  little 
things  crawl  out  of  your  mind.  She's  on  the  level 
and  square  and  fine — a  thoroughbred  if  there  ever 
was  one." 

"I  believe  you're  in  love  with  her,  too." 

The  young  man  found  himself  blushing.  "Now 
don't  get  to  imagining  foolishness.  Miss  Valdes 
hates  the  ground  I  walk  on.  She  thinks  I'm  the 
limit,  and  she  hasn't  forgotten  to  tell  me  so." 

"Which,  of  course,  makes  you  fonder  of  her," 
scoffed  Miss  Underwood.  "Does  she  hate  the 
ground  that  Don  Manuel  walks  on?" 

"Now  you've  got  me.  I  go  to  the  foot  of  the 
class,  because  I  don't  know." 

"But  you  wish  you  did,"  she  flung  at  him,  with  a 
swift  side  glance. 

"Guessing  again,    Miss   Kate.      I'll   sure   report 


156        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

you  if  you  waste  the  State's  time  on  such  foolish- 
ness," he  threatened  gaily. 

"Since  you're  in  love  with  her,  why  don't  you 
marry  Miss  Valdes  and  consolidate  the  two 
claims  ?"  demanded  the  girl. 

Her  chin  was  tilted  impudently  toward  him,  but 
Gordon  guessed  that  there  was  an  undercurrent  of 
meaning  in  her  audacity. 

"What  commission  do  you  charge  for  running 
your  matrimonial  bureau?"  he  asked  innocently. 

"The  service  comes  free  to  infants,"  she  retorted 
sweetly. 

She  was  called  away  to  attend  to  other  business. 
An  hour  later  she  passed  the  desk  where  he  was 
working. 

"So  you  think  I'm  an  infant  at  that  game,  do 
you?" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  was  her 
saucy  answer. 

"You  haven't — not  a  mite.  What  about  Don 
Manuel  ?  Is  he  an  infant  at  it,  too  ?" 

A  sudden  flame  of  color  swept  her  face.  The 
words  she  flung  at  Gordon  seemed  irrelevant,  but 
he  did  not  think  them  so.  "I  hate  him." 

And  with  that  she  was  gone. 

Dick's  eyes  twinkled.  He  had  discovered  another 
reason  for  her  interest  in  his  fortunes. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        157 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  pressure  of  work  had 
relaxed,  the  clerk  drifted  his  way  again  while 
searching  for  some  papers. 

"  "Your  lawyers  are  paid  to  look  up  all  this,  aren't 
they  ?    Why  do  you  do  it,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

"The  case  interests  me.  I  want  to  know  all  about 
it." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  old  Valdes  house  here 
in  Santa  Fe?  My  father  bought  it  when  Alvaro 
Valdes  built  his  new  town  house.  One  day  I  found 
in  the  garret  a  bundle  of  old  Spanish  letters.  They 
were  written  by  old  Bartolome  to  his  son.  I  saved 
them.  Would  you  care  to  see  them  ?" 

"Very  much.  The  old  chap  was  a  great  char- 
acter. I  suppose  he  was  really  the  last  of  the  great 
feudal  barons.  The  French  Revolution  put  an  end 
to  them  in  Europe — that  and  the  industrial  revolu- 
tion. It's  rather  amazing  that  out  here  in  the  desert 
of  this  new  land  dedicated  to  democracy  the  idea 
was  transplanted  and  survived  so  long." 

"I'll  bring  the  letters  to-morrow  and  you  can 
look  them  over.  Any  time  you  like  I'll  show  you 
over  the  house.  It's  really  rather  interesting — much 
more  so  than  their  new  one,  which  is  so  modern 
that  it  looks  like  a  thousand  others.  Valencia  was 
born  in  the  old  house.  What  will  you  give  me  to 
let  you  into  the  room  ?" 


158        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

He  brushed  aside  her  impudence  with  a  laugh. 
"Your  boss  is  lacking  this  way.  I  think  he's  getting 
ready  to  fire  you." 

"He's  more  likely  to  be  fired  himself.  I'm  under 
civil  service  and  he  isn't.  Will  you  take  your  shoes 
off  when  you  go  into  the  holy  of  holies?" 

"What  happens  to  little  girls  when  they  ask  too 
many  questions  ?  Go  'way.  I'm  busy." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

AMBUSHED 

On  her  return  from  luncheon  that  same  afternoon 
Miss  Underwood  brought  Dick  a  bundle  of  letters 
tied  with  a  ribbon.  She  tossed  them  down  upon 
the  desk  in  front  of  him. 

"I  haven't  read  them  myself.  Of  course  they're 
in  Spanish.  I  did  try  to  get  through  one  of  them, 
but  it  was  too  much  like  work  and  I  gave  it  up.  But 
since  they're  written  by  her  grandfather  they'll  in- 
terest you  more  than  they  did  me,"  Miss  Kate  told 
him,  with  the  saucy  tilt  to  her  chin  that  usually 
accompanied  her  impudence. 

He  had  lived  in  Chihuahua  three  years  as  a  min- 
ing engineer,  so  that  he  spoke  and  read  Spanish 
readily.  The  old  Don  wrote  a  stiff  angular  hand, 
but  as  soon  as  he  became  accustomed  to  it  Dick 
found  little  difficulty.  Some  of  the  letters  were 
written  from  the  ranch,  but  most  of  them  carried 
the  Santa  Fe  date  line  at  the  time  the  old  gentleman 
was  governor  of  the  royal  province.  They  were 
159 


160        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

addressed  to  his  son  Alvaro,  at  that  time  a  schoolboy 
in  Mexico  City.  Clearly  Don  Bartolome  intended 
his  son  to  be  informed  as  to  the  affairs  of  the  prov- 
ince, for  the  letters  were  a  mine  of  information  in 
regard  to  political  and  social  conditions.  They  dis- 
cussed at  length,  too,  the  business  interests  of  the 
family  and  the  welfare  of  the  peons  dependent 
upon  it. 

All  afternoon  Gordon  pored  over  these  fascinat- 
ing pages  torn  from  a  dead  and  buried  past.  They 
were  more  interesting  than  any  novel  he  had  ever 
read,  for  they  gave  him  a  photograph,  as  it  were 
projected  by  his  imagination  upon  a  moving  picture 
canvas,  of  the  old  regime  that  had  been  swept  into 
the  ash  heap  by  modern  civilization.  The  letters 
revealed  the  old  Don  frankly.  He  was  proud,  im- 
perious, heady,  and  intrepid.  To  his  inferiors  he 
was  curt  but  kind.  They  flocked  to  him  with  their 
troubles  and  their  quarrels.  The  judgment  of  their 
overlord  was  final  with  his  tenants.  Clearly  he  had 
a  strong  sense  of  his  responsibilities  to  them  and  to 
the  state.  A  quaint  flavor  of  old-world  courtesy  ran 
through  the  letters  like  a  thread  of  gold. 

It  was  a  paragraph  from  one  of  the  last  letters 
that  riveted  Dick's  attention.  Translated  into  Eng- 
lish, it  ran  as  follows : 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        161 

"You  ask,  my  dear  son,  whether  I  have  relin- 
quished the  great  grant  made  us  by  Facundo  Me- 
gares.  In  effect  I  have.  During  the  past  two  years 
I  have  twice,  acting  as  governor,  conveyed  to  settlers 
small  tracts  from  this  grant.  The  conditions  under 
which  such  a  grant  must  be  held  are  too  onerous. 
Moreover,  neither  I  nor  you,  nor  your  son,  nor  his 
son  will  live  to  see  the  day  when  there  is  not  range 
enough  for  all  the  cattle  that  can  be  brought  into 
the  province.  Just  now  time  presses,  but  in  a  later 
letter  I  shall  set  forth  my  reasons  in  detail." 

A  second  and  a  third  time  Dick  read  the  para- 
graph to  make  sure  that  he  had  not  misunderstood 
it.  The  meaning  was  plain.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it.  In  black  and  white  he  had  a  state- 
ment from  old  Don  Bartolome  himself  that  he  con- 
sidered the  grant  no  longer  valid,  that  he  had  given 
it  up  because  he  did  not  think  it  worth  holding.  He 
had  but  to  prove  the  handwriting  in  court — a  thing 
easy  enough  to  do,  since  the  Don's  bold,  stiff  writ- 
ing could  be  found  on  a  hundred  documents — and 
the  Valdes  claimants  would  be  thrown  out  of  pos- 
session. 

Gordon  looked  in  vain  for  the  "later  letter"  to 
which  Bartolome  referred.  Either  it  had  never 
been  written  or  it  had  been  destroyed.  But  without 
it  he  had  enough  to  go  on. 

Before  he  left  the  State  House  he  made  a  pro- 


162        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

posal  to  Miss  Underwood  to  buy  the  letters  from 
her. 

"What  do  you  want  with  a  bunch  of  old  letters?" 
she  asked. 

"One  of  them  helps  my  case.  The  Don  refers  to 
the  grant  and  says  he  has  relinquished  his  claim." 

She  nodded  at  him  with  brisk  approval.  "It's 
fair  of  you  to  tell  me  that."  The  girl  stood  for  a 
moment  considering,  a  pencil  pressed  against  her 
lips.  "I  suppose  the  letters  are  not  mine  to  give. 
They  belong  to  father.  Better  see  him." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  office  of  the  New  Mexican.  Or  you  can 
come  to  the  house  to-night." 

"Believe  I'll  see  him  right  away." 

Within  half  an  hour  Dick  had  bought  the  bundle 
of  letters  for  five  hundred  dollars.  He  returned  to 
the  State  House  with  an  order  to  Kate  Underwood 
to  deliver  them  to  him  upon  demand. 

"Dad  make  a  good  bargain?"  asked  Miss  Under- 
wood, with  a  laugh. 

Gordon  told  her  the  price  he  had  paid. 

"If  I  had  telephoned  to  him  what  you  wanted 
them  for  they  would  have  cost  you  three  times  as 
much,"  she  told  him,  nodding  sagely. 

"Then  I'm  glad  you  didn't.  Point  of  fact  you 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  I  want  with  them." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        163 

"To  help  your  suit.  Isn't  that  what  you're  going 
to  use  them  for?" 

Mildly  he  answered  "Yes,"  but  he  did  not  tell  her 
which  suit  they  were  to  help. 

As  he  was  leaving  she  spoke  to  him  without  look- 
ing up  from  her  writing.  "Mother  and  I  will  be  at 
home  this  evening,  if  you'd  like  to  look  the  house 
over." 

"Thanks.  I'd  be  delighted  to  come.  I'm  really 
awfully  interested." 

"I  see  you  are,"  she  answered  dryly. 

Followed  by  his  brown  shadows  at  a  respectful 
distance,  Dick  walked  back  to  the  hotel  whistling 
gaily. 

"Some  one  die  and  leave  you  a  million  dollars, 
son?"  inquired  the  old  miner,  with  amiable  sarcasm. 

"Me,  I'm  just  happy  because  I'm  not  a  Chink," 
explained  his  friend,  and  passed  to  the  hotel  writing- 
room. 

He  sat  down,  equipped  himself  with  stationery, 
and  selected  a  new  point  for  a  pen.  Half  a  dozen 
times  he  made  a  start  and  as  often  threw  a  crumpled 
sheet  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  It  took  him 
nearly  an  hour  to  compose  an  epistle  that  suited  him. 
What  he  had  finally  to  content  himself  with  was  as 
follows : 


164        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"DEAR  MADAM  : — Please  find  inclosed  a  bundle 
of  letters  that  apparently  belong  to  you.  They 
have  just  come  into  my  possession.  I  therefore 
send  them  to  you  without  delay.  Your  attention  is 
particularly  called  to  the  one  marked  'Exhibit  A.' 
"Very  truly  yours, 

RICHARD  MUIR  GORDON." 


He  wrapped  up  the  letters,  including  his  own, 
sealed  the  package  carefully,  and  walked  downtown 
to  the  post  office.  Here  he  wrote  upon  the  cover  the 
name  and  address  of  Miss  Valencia  Valdes,  then 
registered  the  little  parcel  with  a  request  for  a 
signed  receipt  after  delivery  at  its  destination. 

Davis  noticed  that  at  dinner  his  friend  was  more 
gay  than  usual. 

"You  ce'tainly  must  have  come  into  that  million 
I  mentioned,  judging  by  your  actions,"  he  insisted, 
with  a  smile. 

"Wrong  guess,  Steve.  I've  just  been  giving  away 
a  million.  That's  why  I'm  hilarious." 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  an  easier  one,  son.  Didn't 
know  you  had  a  million." 

"Oh,  well!  A  million,  or  a  half,  or  a  quarter, 
whatever  the  Moreno  claim  is  worth.  I'm  not 
counting  nickels.  An  hour  ago  I  had  it  in  my  fist. 
I've  just  mailed  it,  very  respectfully  yours,  to  my 
friend  the  enemy." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE,  DONS        165 

"Suppose  you  talk  simple  American  that  your 
Uncle  Steve  can  understand,  boy.    What  have  you 
been  up  to?" 
"  Dick  told  him  exultantly. 

"But,  good  Lord,  why  for  did  you  make  such  a 
play?  You  had  'em  where  the  wool  was  short. 
Now  you've  let  loose  and  you'll  have  to  wait  'steen 
years  while  the  courts  eat  up  all  the  profits.  Of  all 
the  mule-headed  chumps — — " 

"Hold  your  horses,  Steve.  I  know  what  I'm  do- 
ing. Said  I  was  a  spy  and  a  thief  and  a  liar,  didn't 
she?  Threw  the  hot  shot  into  me  proper  for  a 
cheap  skate  swindler,  eh?"  The  young  man  laid 
down  his  knife,  leaned  across  the  table,  and  wagged 
a  forefinger  at  Davis.  "What  do  you  reckon  that 
young  woman  is  going  to  think  of  herself  when  she 
opens  that  registered  package  and  finds  the  letter 
that  would  have  put  the  rollers  under  her  claim  muy 
pronto  ?' 

"Think !  She'll  think  you  the  biggest  burro  that 
ever  brayed  on  the  San  Jacinto  range.  She'll  have 
a  commission  appointed  to  examine  you  for  lunacy. 
What  in  Mexico  is  ailin'  you,  anyhow?  You're 
sick.  That's  what's  wrong.  Love-sick,  by  Moses !" 
exploded  his  friend. 

Dick  smiled  blandly.  "You've  got  another  guess 
coming,  Steve.  She's  going  to  eat  dirt  because  she 


166        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

misjudged  me  so.  She's  going  to  lie  awake  nights 
and  figure  what  play  she  can  make  to  get  even  again. 
Getting  hold  of  those  blamed  letters  is  the  luckiest 
shot  I've  made  yet.  I  was  in  bad — darned  bad. 
Explanations  didn't  go.  I  was  just  a  plain  ornery 
skunk.  Then  I  put  over  this  grand-stand  play  and 
change  the  whole  situation.  She's  the  one  that's  in 
bad  now.  Didn't  she  tell  me  right  off  the  bat  what 
kind  of  a  hairpin  I  was?  Didn't  she  drive  me  off 
the  ranch  with  that  game  leg  of  mine  all  to  the  bad  ? 
Good  enough.  Now  she  finds  out  I'm  a  white  man 
she's  going  to  be  plumb  sore  at  herself." 

"What  good  does  that  do  you  ?  You're  making  a 
fight  for  the  Rio  Chama  Valley,  ain't  you  ?  Or  are 
you  just  having  a  kid  quarrel  with  a  girl?" 

"I  wouldn't  take  the  Rio  Chama  Valley  as  a  gift 
if  I  had  to  steal  it  from  Miss  Valdes  and  her  people. 
Ain't  I  making  enough  money  up  at  Cripple  Creek 
for  my  needs  ?  No,  Steve !  I'm  playing  for  bigger 
game  than  that.  Size  up  my  hand  beside  Don  Man- 
uel's, and  it  looks  pretty  bum.  But  I'm  going  to 
play  it  strong.  Maybe  at  the  draw  I'll  fill." 

"Mebbe  you  won't." 

"I  can  bet  it  like  I  had  an  ace  full,  can't  I  ?  Any- 
body can  play  poker  when  he's  got  a  mitt  full  of  big 
ones.  Show  me  the  man  that  can  make  two  pair 
back  an  all-blue  hand  off  the  map." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        167 

"Go  to  it,  you  old  sport.  My  money's  on  you," 
grinned  the  miner  admiringly.  "I'll  go  order  a 
wedding  present." 

Through  the  pleasant  coolness  of  the  evening  Dick 
sauntered  along  the  streets  to  the  Underwood  home, 
nor  was  his  contentment  lessened  because  he  knew 
that  at  a  safe  distance  the  brown  shadows  still 
dogged  his  steps.  In  a  scabbard  fitted  neatly  be- 
neath his  left  arm  rested  a  good  friend  that  more 
than  once  had  saved  its  owner's  life.  To  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second  Gordon  knew  just  how  long  it 
would  take  him  to  get  this  into  action  in  case  of 
need. 

Kate  Underwood  met  him  at  the  door  and  took 
her  guest  into  the  living-room.  Beside  a  student 
lamp  a  plump  little  old  lady  sat  knitting.  Somehow 
even  before  her  soft  voice  welcomed  him  the  visitor 
knew  that  her  gentle  presence  diffused  an  atmos- 
phere of  home. 

"Thee  is  welcome,  Mr.  Gordon.  Kate  has  been 
telling  us  of  thee." 

The  young  man  gave  no  evidence  of  surprise,  but 
Kate  explained  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"We  are  Friends,  and  at  home  we  still  use  the  old 
way  of  address." 

"I  have  very  pleasant  memories  of  the  Friends. 
A  good  old  lady  who  took  the  place  of  my  own 


mother  was  one.  It  is  nice  to  hear  the  speech 
again,"  answered  Gordon. 

Presently  the  conversation  drifted  to  the  Valdes 
family.  It  appeared  that  as  children  Kate  and  Va- 
lencia had  known  each  other.  The  heiress  of  the 
Valdes  estates  had  been  sent  to  Washington  to 
school,  and  later  had  attended  college  in  the  East. 
Since  her  return  she  had  spent  most  of  her  time  in 
the  valley.  So  that  it  happened  the  two  young 
women  had  not  met  for  a  good  many  years. 

It  occurred  to  Dick  that  there  was  a  certain  aloof- 
ness in  Miss  Underwood's  attitude  toward  Valencia, 
a  reticence  that  was  not  quite  unfriendliness  but 
retained  the  right  of  criticism.  She  held  her  judg- 
ment as  it  were  in  abeyance. 

While  Miss  Underwood  was  preparing  some  sim- 
ple refreshments  Gordon  learned  from  her  mother 
that  Manuel  Pesquiera  had  been  formerly  a  fre- 
quent caller. 

"He  has  been  so  busy  since  he  moved  down  to  his 
place  on  the  Rio  Chama  that  we  see  nothing  of  him," 
she  explained  placidly.  "He  is  a  fine  type  of  the 
best  of  the  old  Spanish  families.  Thee  would  find 
him  a  good  friend." 

"Or  a  good  foe,"  the  young  man  added. 

She  conceded  the  point  with  a  sigh.  "Yes.  He  is 
testy.  He  has  the  old  patrician  pride." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        169 

After  they  had  eaten  cake  and  ice  cream,  Kate 
showed  Gordon  over  the  house.  It  was  built  of 
adobe,  and  the  window  seats  in  the  thick  walls  were 
made  comfortable  with  cushions  or  filled  with  potted 
plants.  Navajo  rugs  and  Indian  baskets  lent  the 
rooms  the  homey  appearance  such  furnishings  al- 
ways give  in  the  old  Southwest.  The  house  was 
built  around  a  court  in  the  center,  fronting  on  which 
were  long,  shaded  balconies  both  on  the  first  and 
second  floor.  A  profusion  of  flowering  trailers 
rioted  up  the  pillars  and  along  the  upper  railing. 

"The  old  families  knew  how  to  make  themselves 
comfortable,  anyhow,"  commented  the  guest. 

"Yes,  that's  the  word — comfort.  It's  not  modern 
or  stylish  or  up  to  date,  but  I  never  saw  a  house 
really  more  comfortable  to  live  in  than  this,"  Miss 
Underwood  agreed.  She  led  the  way  through  a 
French  window  from  the  veranda  to  a  large  room 
with  a  southern  exposure.  "How  do  you  like  this 
room  ?" 

"Must  catch  the  morning  sunshine  fine.  I  like 
even  the  old  stone  fireplace  in  the  corner.  Why 
don't  builders  nowadays  make  such  rooms?" 

"You've  saved  yourself,  Mr.  Gordon.  This  is 
the  sacred  room.  Here  the  Princess  of  the  Rio 
Chama  was  born.  This  was  her  room  when  she  was 
a  girl  until  she  went  away  to  school.  She  slept  in 


170        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

that  very  bed.  Down  on  your  knees,  sir,  and  wor- 
ship at  the  shrine." 

He  met  with  a  laugh  the  cool,  light  scorn  of  her 
banter.  Yet  something  in  him  warmed  to  his  en- 
vironment. He  had  the  feeling  of  having  come  into 
more  intimate  touch  with  her  past  than  he  had  yet 
done.  The  sight  of  that  plain  little  bed  went  to  the 
source  of  his  emotions.  How  many  times  had  his 
love  knelt  beside  it  in  her  night-gown  and  offered 
up  her  pure  prayers  to  the  God  she  worshiped ! 

He  made  his  good-byes  soon  after  their  return  to 
Mrs.  Underwood.  Dick  was  a  long  way  from  a 
sentimentalist,  but  he  wanted  to  be  alone  and  adjust 
his  mind  to  the  new  conception  of  his  sweetheart 
brought  by  her  childhood  home.  It  was  a  night  of 
little  moonlight.  As  he  walked  toward  the  hotel  he 
could  see  nothing  of  the  escort  that  had  been  his 
during  the  past  few  days.  He  wondered  if  perhaps 
they  had  got  tired  of  shadowing  his  movements. 

The  road  along  which  he  was  passing  had  on 
both  sides  of  it  a  row  of  big  cottonwoods,  whose 
branches  met  in  an  arch  above.  Dick,  with  that 
instinct  for  safety  which  every  man-hunter  has 
learned,  walked  down  the  middle  of  the  street,  eyes 
and  ears  alert  for  the  least  sign  of  an  ambush. 

Two  men  approached  on  the  plank  sidewalk. 
They  were  quarreling.  Suddenly  a  knife  flashed, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        171 

and  one  of  the  men  went  with  an  oath  to  the 
ground.  Dick  reached  for  his  gun  and  plunged 
straight  for  the  assailant,  who  had  stooped  as  if  to 
strike  again  the  prostrate  man.  The  rescuer  stum- 
bled over  a  taut  rope  and  at  the  same  moment  a 
swarm  of  men  fell  upon  him.  Even  as  he  rose  and 
shook  off  the  clutching  hands  Gordon  knew  that  he 
was  the  victim  of  a  ruse. 

He  had  lost  his  revolver  in  the  fall.  With 
clenched  fists  he  struck  hard  and  sure.  They 
swarmed  upon  him,  so  many  that  they  got  in  each 
other's  way.  Now  he  was  down,  now  up  again. 
They  swayed  to  and  fro  in  a  huddle,  as  does  a  black 
bear  surrounded  by  a  pack  of  dogs.  Still  the  man 
at  the  heart  of  the  melee  struck — and  struck — and 
struck  again.  Men  went  down  and  were  trodden 
under  foot,  but  he  reeled  on,  stumbling  as  he  went, 
turning,  twisting,  hitting  hard  and  sure  with  all 
the  strength  that  many  good  clean  years  in  the  open 
had  stored  within  him.  Blows  fell  upon  his  curly 
head  as  it  rose  now  and  again  out  of  the  storm — 
blows  of  guns,  of  knives,  of  bony  knuckles.  Yet  he 
staggered  forward,  bleeding,  exhausted,  feeling 
nothing  of  the  blows,  seeing  only  the  distorted  faces 
that  snarled  on  every  side  of  him. 

He  knew  that  when  he  went  down  it  would  be  to 
stay.  Even  as  he  flung  them  aside  and  hammered 


172        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

at  the  brown  faces  he  felt  sure  he  was  lost.  The 
coat  was  torn  from  his  back.  The  blood  from  his 
bruised  and  cut  face  and  scalp  blinded  him.  Heavy 
weights  dragged  at  his  arms  as  they  struck  wildly 
and  feebly.  Iron  balls  seemed  to  chain  his  feet. 
He  plowed  doggedly  forward,  dragging  the  pack 
with  him.  Furiously  they  beat  him,  striking  them- 
selves as  often  as  they  did  him.  His  shoulders  be- 
gan to  sway  forward.  Men  leaped  upon  him  from 
behind.  Two  he  dragged  down  with  him  as  he 
went.  The  sky  was  blotted  out.  He  was  tired — 
deadly  tired.  In  a  great  weariness  he  felt  himself 
sinking  together. 

The  consciousness  drained  out  of  him  as  an  eb- 
bing wave  does  from  the  sands  of  the  shore. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MANUEL   TO    THE   RESCUE 

Valencia  Valdes  did  not  conform  closely  to  the 
ideal  her  preceptress  at  the  Washington  finishing 
school  had  held  as  to  what  constitutes  a  perfect 
lady.  Occasionally  her  activities  shocked  Manuel, 
who  held  to  the  ancient  view  that  maidens  should 
come  to  matrimony  with  the  innocence  born  of  con- 
ventual ignorance.  He  would  have  preferred  his 
wife  to  be  a  clinging  vine,  but  in  the  case  of  Valen- 
cia this  would  be  impossible. 

No  woman  in  New  Mexico  could  ride  better  than 
the  heiress  of  the  Rio  Chama.  She  could  throw  a 
rope  as  well  as  some  of  her  vaqueros.  At  least  one 
bearskin  lay  on  the  floor  of  her  study  as  a  witness  to 
her  prowess  as  a  Diana.  Many  a  time  she  had 
fished  the  river  in  waders  and  brought  back  with 
her  to  the  ranch  a  creel  full  of  trout.  Years  in  the 
untempered  sun  and  wind  of  the  southwest  had 
given  her  a  sturdiness  of  body  unusual  in  a  girl  so 
slenderly  fashioned.  The  responsibility  of  large 
affairs  had  added  to  this  an  independence  of  judg- 
173 


174        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

ment  that  would  have  annoyed  Don  Manuel  if  he 
had  been  less  in  love. 

Against  the  advice  of  both  Pesquiera  and  her 
foreman  she  had  about  a  year  before  this  time 
largely  increased  her  holdings  in  cattle,  at  the  same 
time  investing  heavily  in  improved  breeding  stock. 
Her  justification  had  been  that  the  cost  of  beef, 
based  on  the  law  of  supply  and  demand,  was  bound 
to  continue  on  the  rise. 

"But  how  do  you  know,  Dona?"  her  perplexed 
major  domo  had  asked.  "Twenty — fifteen  years 
ago  everybody  had  cattle  and  lost  money.  Prices 
are  high  to-day,  but  manana " 

"To-morrow  they  will  be  higher.  It's  just  a  mat- 
ter of  arithmetic,  Fernando.  There  are  seventeen 
million  less  cattle  in  the  country  than  there  were 
eight  years  ago.  The  government  reports  say  so. 
Our  population  is  steadily  increasing.  The  people 
must  eat.  Since  there  are  fewer  cattle  they  must 
pay  more  for  their  meat.  We  shall  have  meat  to 
sell.  Is  that  not  simple  ?" 

"Si,  Dona,  but " 

"But  in  the  main  we  have  always  been  sheep- 
herders,  so  we  ought  always  to  be  ?  We'll  run  cattle 
and  sheep,  too,  Fernando.  We'll  make  this  ranch 
pay  as  it  never  has  before." 

"But  the  feed — the  winter  feed,  Senoritaf" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        175 

"We'll  have  to  raise  our  feed.  I'm  going  to  send 
for  engineers  and  find  what  it  will  cost  to  impound 
water  in  the  cordilleras  and  run  ditches  into  the 
valley.  We  ought  to  be  watering  thousands  of  acres 
for  alfalfa  and  grain  that  now  are  dry." 

"It  never  has  been  done — not  in  the  time  of  Don 
Alvaro  or  even  in  that  of  Don  Bartolome." 

"And  so  you  think  it  never  can  ?"  she  asked,  with 
a  smile. 

"The  Rio  Chama  Valley  is  grazing  land.  It  is 
not  for  agriculture.  Everybody  knows  that,"  he 
insisted  doggedly. 

"Everybody  knows  we  were  given  two  legs  with 
which  to  walk,  but  it  is  an  economy  to  ride.  So  we 
use  horses." 

Fernando  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Of  what  use 
to  argue  with  the  dona  when  her  teeth  were  set? 
She  was  a  Valdes,  and  so  would  have  her  way. 

That  had  been  a  year  ago.  Now  the  ditches  were 
built.  Fields  had  been  planted  to  alfalfa  and  grain. 
Soon  the  water  would  be  running  through  the  lat- 
erals to  irrigate  the  growing  crops.  Quietly  the 
young  woman  at  the  head  of  things  was  revolu- 
tionizing the  life  of  the  valley  by  transforming  it 
from  a  pastoral  to  a  farming  community. 

This  morning,  having  arranged  with  the  major 
domo  the  work  of  the  day,  Valencia  appeared  on 


176        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

the  porch  dressed  for  riding.  She  was  going  to 
see  the  water  turned  on  to  the  new  ditches  from  the 
north  lateral. 

The  young  mistress  of  the  ranch  swung  astride 
the  horse  that  had  just  been  brought  from  the  sta- 
bles, for  she  rode  man-fashion  after  the  sensible 
custom  of  the  West.  Before  riding  out  of  the  plaza 
she  stopped  to  give  Pedro  some  directions  about  a 
bunch  of  yearlings  in  the  corral. 

The  mailman  in  charge  of  the  R.  F.  D.  route 
drove  into  the  yard  and  handed  Valencia  a  bunch 
of  letters  and  papers.  One  of  the  pieces  given  her 
was  a  rather  fat  package  for  which  she  had  to  sign 
a  registry  receipt. 

She  handed  the  mail  to  Juan  and  told  him  to  put 
it  on  the  desk  in  her  office  library ;  then  she  changed 
her  mind,  moved  by  an  impulse  of  feminine  curi- 
osity. 

"Give  me  back  that  big  letter,  Juan.  I'll  just  see 
what  it  is  before  I  go." 

Five  minutes  later  she  descended  to  the  porch. 
"I'm  not  going  riding  just  now.  Keep  the  horse 
saddled,  Pedro."  She  had  read  Dick  Gordon's 
note  and  the  letter  marked  Exhibit  A.  Even  care- 
less Juan  noticed  that  his  mistress  was  much  agi- 
tated. Pedro  wondered  savagely  whether  that 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        177 

splendid  devil  Americano  had  done  something  fresh 
to  annoy  the  dear  saint  he  worshiped. 

Gordon  had  not  overemphasized  the  effect  upon 
her  of  his  action.  Her  pride  had  clung  to  a  belief 
in  his  unworthiness  as  the  justification  for  what  she 
had  said  and  done.  Now,  with  a  careless  and  mock- 
ing laugh,  he  had  swept  aside  all  the  arguments  she 
had  nursed.  He  had  sent  to  her,  so  that  she  might 
destroy  it,  the  letter  that  would  have  put  her  case 
out  of  court.  If  he  had  wanted  a  revenge  for  her 
bitter  words  the  American  had  it  now.  He  had 
repaid  her  scorn  and  contempt  with  magnanimity. 
He  had  heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  her  head,  had 
humiliated  her  by  proving  that  he  was  more  gener- 
ous of  spirit  than  she. 

Valencia  paced  the  floor  of  her  library  in  a  stress 
of  emotion.  It  was  not  her  pride  alone  that  had 
been  touched,  but  the  fine  instincts  of  justice  and 
fair  play  and  good  will.  She  had  outraged  hospi- 
tality and  sent  him  packing.  She  had  let  him  take 
the  long  tramp  in  spite  of  his  bad  knee.  Her  de- 
pendents had  attempted  to  murder  him.  Her  best 
friend  had  tried  to  fasten  a  duel  upon  him.  All  over 
the  valley  his  name  had  been  bandied  about  as  that 
of  one  in  league  with  the  devil.  As  an  answer  to  all 
this  outrage  that  had  been  heaped  upon  him  he  re- 
fused to  take  advantage  of  this  chance- found  letter 


178        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

of  Bartolome  merely  because  it  was  her  letter  and 
not  his.  Her  heart  was  bowed  down  with  shame 
and  yet  was  lifted  in  a  warm  glow  of  appreciation 
of  his  quality.  Something  in  her  blood  sang  with 
gladness.  She  had  known  all  along  that  the  hateful 
things  she  had  said  to  him  could  not  be  true.  He 
was  her  enemy,  but — the  brave  spirit  of  her  went 
out  in  a  rush  to  thank  God  for  this  proof  of  his 
decency. 

The  girl  was  all  hot  for  action.  She  wanted  to 
humble  herself  in  apology.  She  wanted  to  show 
him  that  she  could  respond  to  his  generosity.  But 
how?  Only  one  way  was  open  just  now. 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  a  swift,  impulsive  letter 
of  contrition.  For  the  wrong  she  had  done  him 
Valencia  asked  forgiveness.  As  for  the  letter  he 
had  so  generously  sent,  she  must  beg  him  to  keep  it 
and  use  it  at  the  forthcoming  trial.  It  would  be 
impossible  for  her  to  accept  such  a  sacrifice  of  his 
rights.  In  the  meantime  she  could  assure  him  that 
she  would  always  be  sorry  for  the  way  in  which  she 
had  misjudged  him. 

The  young  woman  called  for  her  horse  again  and 
rode  to  Corbett's,  which  was  the  nearest  post-office. 
In  the  envelope  with  her  letter  was  also  the  one  of 
her  grandfather  marked  "Exhibit  A."  She,  too, 
carefully  registered  the  contents  before  mailing. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        179 

As  she  stood  on  the  porch  drawing  up  her  gaunt- 
lets a  young  man  cantered  into  sight.  He  wore 
puttees,  riding  breeches,  and  a  neat  corduroy  coat. 
One  glance  told  her  it  was  Manuel.  No  other  rider 
in  the  valley  had  quite  the  same  easy  seat  in  the 
saddle  as  the  young  Spaniard.  He  drew  up  sharply 
in  front  of  Valencia  and  landed  lightly  on  his  feet 
beside  her. 

"Buenos,  Senorita." 

"Buenos,  cousin."  Her  shining  eyes  went  eagerly 
to  his.  "Manuel,  what  do  you  think  Mr.  Gordon 
has  done?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "How  can  I  guess? 
That  mad  American  might  do  anything  but  show 
the  white  feather." 

In  four  sentences  she  told  him. 

Manuel  clapped  his  hands  in  approval.  "Bravo! 
Done  like  a  man.  He  is  at  least  neither  a  spy  nor  a 
thief." 

Valencia  smiled  with  pleasure.  Manuel,  too,  had 
come  out  of  the  test  with  flying  colors.  He  and 
Gordon  were  foes,  but  he  accepted  at  face  value 
what  the  latter  had  done,  without  any  sneers  or  any 
sign  of  jealousy. 

"And  what  shall  I  do  with  the  letter?"  his  cousin 
asked. 


180        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Do  with  it?  Put  it  in  the  first  fire  you  see. 
Shall  I  lend  you  a  match?" 

She  shook  her  head,  still  with  the  gleam  of  a 
smile  on  her  vivid  face.  "Too  late,  Manuel.  I 
have  disposed  of  the  dangerous  evidence." 

"So?  Good.  You  took  my  advice  before  I  gave 
it,  then." 

"Not  quite.  I  couldn't  be  less  generous  than  our 
enemy.  So  I  have  sent  the  letter  back  to  him  and 
told  him  to  use  it." 

The  young  man  gave  her  his  best  bow.  "Mag- 
nificent, but  not  war.  I  might  have  trusted  the 
daughter  of  Don  Alvaro  to  do  a  thing  so  royal. 
My  cousin,  I  am  proud  of  you." 

"What  else  could  I  have  done  and  held  my  self- 
respect?  I  had  insulted  him  gratuitously  and  my 
people  had  tried  to  kill  him.  The  least  I  could  do 
now  was  to  meet  him  in  a  spirit  like  his  own." 

"Honors  are  easy.  Let  us  see  what  Mr.  Gordon 
will  now  do." 

The  sound  of  a  light  footfall  came  to  them.  A 
timid  voice  broke  into  their  conversation. 

"May  I  see  Dona  Valencia — alone — for  just  a 
minute?" 

Miss  Valdes  turned.  A  girl  was  standing  shyly 
in  the  doorway.  Her  soft  brown  eyes  begged  par- 
don for  the  intrusion. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        181 

"You  are  Juanita,  are  you  not?"  the  young  wom- 
an asked. 

"Si,  Dona." 

Pesquiera  eliminated  himself  by  going  in  to  get 
his  mail. 

"What  is  it  that  I  can  do  for  you?"  asked  Va- 
lencia. 

The  Mexican  girl  broke  into  an  emotional  storm. 
She  caught  one  of  her  hands  in  the  brown  palm  of 
the  other  with  a  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"They  have  gone  to  kill  him,  Dona.  I  know  it. 
Something  tells  me.  He  will  never  come  back 
alive."  The  feeling  she  had  repressed  was  finding 
vent  in  long,  irregular  sobs. 

Valencia  felt  as  if  she  were  being  drowned  in  icy 
water.  The  color  washed  from  her  cheeks.  She 
had  no  need  to  ask  who  it  was  that  would  never 
come  back  alive,  but  she  did. 

"Who,  child  ?  Whom  is  it  that  they  have  gone  to 
kill?" 

"The  American — Senor  Gordon." 

"Who  has  gone?  And  when  did  they  go?  Tell 
me  quick." 

"Sebastian  and  Pablo — maybe  others — I  do  not 
know." 

Miss  Valdes  thought  quickly.  It  might  be  true. 
Both  the  men  mentioned  had  asked  for  a  holiday 


182         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

to  go  to  Santa  Fe.  What  business  had  they  there  at 
this  time  of  the  year?  Could  it  be  Pablo  who  had 
shot  at  Gordon  from  ambush  ?  If  so,  why  was  he  so 
bitter  against  the  common  enemy  ? 

"Juanita,  tell  me  everything.  What  is  it  that  you 
know?" 

The  sobs  of  the  girl  increased.  She  leaned  against 
the  door  jamb  and  buried  her  face  in  the  crook  of 
her  arm. 

The  older  girl  put  an  arm  around  the  quivering 
shoulders  and  spoke  gently.  "But  listen,  child.  Tell 
me  all.  It  may  be  we  can  save  him  yet." 

A  name  came  from  the  muffled  lips.  It  was 
"Pablo." 

Valencia's  brain  was  lit  by  a  flash  of  understand- 
ing. "Pablo  is  your  lover.  Is  it  not  so,  ninaf" 

The  dark  crown  of  soft  hair  moved  up  and  down 
in  assent.  "Oh,  Dona,  he  was,  but " 

"You  have  quarreled  with  him?" 

Miss  Valdes  burned  with  impatience,  but  some  in- 
stinct told  her  she  could  not  hurry  the  girl. 

"Si,  Senorita.    He  quarreled.    He  said " 

"Yes?" 

" that  .  .  .  that  Senor  Gordon  .  .  ." 

Again,  groping  for  the  truth,  Valencia  found  it 
swiftly. 

"You  mean  that  Pablo  was  jealous?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        183 

"Because  I  had  nursed  Senor  Gordon,  because  he 

was  kind  to  me,  because "  Juanita  had  lifted 

her  face  to  answer.  As  she  spoke  the  color  poured 
into  her  cheeks  even  to  her  throat,  convicting  evi- 
dence of  the  cruel  embarrassment  she  felt. 

Valencia's  hand  dropped  to  her  side.  When  she 
spoke  again  the  warmth  had  been  banished  from 
her  voice.  "I  see.  You  nursed  Mr.  Gordon,  did 
you?" 

Juanita's  eyes  fell  before  the  cold  accusation  in 
those  of  Miss  Valdes.  "Si,  Senorita." 

"And  he  was  kind  to  you?    In  what  way  kind?" 

The  slim  Mexican  girl,  always  of  the  shyest,  was 

bathed  in  blushes.     "He  called  me  .  .  .  nina.    He 
» 

" made  love  to  you." 

A  sensation  as  if  the  clothes  were  being  torn  from 
her  afflicted  Juanita.  Why  did  the  Dona  drag  her 
heart  out  to  look  at  it?  Nor  did  the  girl  herself 
know  how  much  or  how  little  Richard  Gordon's 
gay  camaraderie  meant.  She  was  of  that  type  of 
women  who  love  all  that  are  kind  to  them.  No  man 
had  ever  been  so  considerate  as  this  handsome 
curly-headed  American.  So  dumbly  her  heart  went 
out  to  him  and  made  the  most  of  his  friendliness. 
Had  he  not  once  put  his  arm  around  her  shoulder 
and  told  her  to  "buck  up"  when  he  came  upon  her 


184        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

crying  because  of  Pedro?  Had  he  not  told  her  she 
was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  neighborhood?  And 
had  he  not  said,  too,  that  she  was  a  little  angel  for 
nursing  him  so  patiently  ? 

"Dona,  I — do — not — know."  The  words  came 
out  as  if  they  were  being  dragged  from  her.  Poor 
Juanita  would  have  liked  the  ground  to  open  up 
and  swallow  her. 

"Don't  you  know,  you  little  stupid,  that  he  is 
playing  with  you,  that  he  will  not  marry  you?" 

"If  Dona  Valencia  says  so,"  murmured  the  Mex- 
ican submissively. 

"Men  are  that  way,  heartless  .  .  .  selfish  .  .  . 
vain.  But  I  suppose  you  led  him  on,"  concluded 
Valencia  cruelly. 

With  a  little  flare  of  spirit  Juanita  looked  up. 
Her  courage  was  for  her  friend,  not  for  herself. 

"Senor  Gordon  is  good.    He  is  kind." 

"A  lot  you  know  about  it,  child.  Have  nothing 
to  do  with  him.  His  love  can  only  hurt  a  girl  like 
you.  Go  back  to  your  Pablo  and  forget  the  Ameri- 
can. I  will  see  he  does  not  trouble  you  again." 

Juanita  began  to  cry  again.  She  did  not  want 
Senorita  Valdes  or  anybody  else  interfering  be- 
tween her  and  the  friend  she  had  nursed.  But  she 
knew  she  could  not  stop  this  imperative  young 
woman  from  doing  as  she  pleased. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        185 

"Now  tell  me  how  you  know  that  Pablo  has  gone 
to  injure  the  American.  Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"No-o." 

•  "Well,  what  did  he  say?  What  is  it  that  you 
know?"  Valencia's  shoe  tapped  the  floor  impati- 
ently. "Tell  me— tell  me !" 

"He — Pablo — met  me  at  the  corral  the  day  he 
left.  I  was  in  the  kitchen  and  he  whistled  to  me." 
Juanita  gave  the  information  sullenly.  Why  should 
Senorita  Valdes  treat  her  so  harshly?  She  had 
done  no  wrong. 

"Yes.     Go  on!" 

If  she  had  had  the  force  of  character  Juanita 
would  have  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  away. 
But  all  her  life  it  had  been  impressed  upon  her  that 
the  will  of  a  Valdes  was  law  to  her  and  her  class. 

"I  do  not  know  .  .  .  Pablo  told  me  nothing  .  .  . 
but  he  laughed  at  me,  oh,  so  cruelly !  He  asked  if  I 
.  .  .  had  any  messages  for  my  Gringo  lover." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All  .  .  .  except  that  he  would  show  me  what 
happened  to  foreign  devils  who  stole  my  love  from 
him.  Oh,  Senorita,  do  you  think  he  will  kill  the 
American  ?" 

Valencia,  her  white  lips  pressed  tightly  together, 
gave  no  answer.  She  was  thinking. 


186        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  hate  Pablo.  He  is  wicked.  I  will  never  speak 
to  him  again,"  moaned  Juanita  helplessly. 

Manuel,  coming  out  of  the  post-office  with  his 
mail,  looked  at  the  weeping  girl  incuriously.  It  was, 
he  happened  to  know,  a  habit  of  the  sex  to  cry  over 
trifles. 

Juanita  found  in  a  little  nod  from  Miss  Valdes 
permission  to  leave.  She  turned  and  walked  hur- 
riedly away  to  the  adobe  cabin  where  she  slept. 
Before  she  reached  it  the  walk  had  become  a  run. 

"Has  the  young  woman  lost  a  ribbon  or  a  lover?" 
commented  Pesquiera,  with  a  smile. 

"Manuel,  I  am  worried,"  answered  Valencia  ir- 
relevantly. 

"What  about,  my  cousin?" 

"It's  this  man  Gordon  again.  Juanita  says  that 
Pablo  and  Sebastian  have  gone  to  kill  him." 

"Gone  where?" 

"To  Santa  Fe.  They  asked  for  a  leave  of  ab- 
sence. You  know  how  sullen  and  suspicious  Se- 
bastian is.  It  is  fixed  firmly  in  his  head  that  Mr. 
Gordon  is  going  to  take  away  his  farm." 

Manuel's  black  eyes  snapped.  He  did  not  propose 
to  let  any  peons  steal  from  him  the  punishment  he 
owed  this  insolent  Gordon. 

"But  Pablo  is  not  a  fool.  Surely  he  knows  he 
cannot  do  such  a  mad  thing." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        187 

"Pablo  is  jealous — and  hot-headed."  The  angry 
color  mounted  to  the  cheeks  of  the  young  woman. 
"He  is  in  love  with  Juanita  and  he  found  out  this 
stranger  has  .been  philandering  with  her.  It  is 
abominable.  This  Gordon  has  made  the  silly  little 
fool  fall  in  love  with  him." 

"Oh,  if  Pablo  is  jealous "  Pesquiera  gave  a 

little  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  He  understood  pretty 
well  the  temperament  of  the  ignorant  Mexican. 
The  young  lover  was  likely  to  shoot  first  and  think 
afterward. 

Valencia  was  still  thinking  of  the  American.  Be- 
neath the  olive  of  her  cheeks  two  angry  spots  still 
burned.  "I  detest  that  sort  of  thing.  I  thought  he 
was  a  gentleman — and  he  is  only  a  male  flirt  .  .  . 
or  worse." 

"Perhaps — and  perhaps  not,  my  cousin.  Did 
Juanita  tell  you ?" 

"She  told  me  enough.    All  I  need  to  know." 

Again  the  young  man's  shoulders  lifted  in  a  little 
gesture  of  humorous  resignation.  He  knew  the 
uncompromising  directness  of  Miss  Valdes  and  the 
futility  of  arguing  with  her.  After  all,  the  charac- 
ter of  Gordon  was  none  of  his  business.  The  man 
might  have  made  love  to  Juanita,  though  he  did  not 
look  like  that  kind  of  a  person.  In  any  case  the 
important  thing  was  to  save  his  life. 


188        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

After  a  moment's  thought  he  announced  a  de- 
cision. "I  shall  take  the  stage  for  Santa  Fe  this 
afternoon.  When  I  have  warned  the  American  I'll 
round  up  your  man-hunters  and  bring  them  back  to 
you." 

His  lady's  face  thanked  him,  though  her  words 
did  not.  "You  may  tell  them  I  said  they  were  to 
come  back  at  once." 

At  her  cousin's  urgent  request  Miss  Valdes  stayed 
to  eat  luncheon  with  him  at  Corbett's,  which  was  a 
half-way  station  for  the  stage  and  maintained  a 
public  eating-house.  Even  Valencia  hesitated  a 
little  at  this,  though  she  was  at  heart  an  emancipated 
American  girl  and  not  a  much-chaperoned  Spanish 
maid.  But  she  wanted  to  repay  him  for  the  service 
he  was  undertaking  so  cheerfully,  and  therefore 
sacrificed  her  scruples. 

As  they  were  being  served  by  Juanita  the  stage 
rolled  up  and  disgorged  its  passengers.  They 
poured  into  the  dining-room — a  mine-owner  and 
his  superintendent,  a  storekeeper  from  the  village 
at  the  other  end  of  the  valley,  a  young  woman 
school-teacher  from  the  Indian  reservation,  a  cat- 
tleman, and  two  Mexican  sheepmen. 

While  the  fresh  horses  were  being  hitched  to  the 
stage  Pesquiera  and  his  guest  stood  back  a  little 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        189 

apart  from  the  others.  Corbett  brought  out  a  sack 
containing  mail  and  handed  it  to  the  driver.  The 
passengers  found  again  their  places. 

Pesquiera  shook  hands  with  Valencia.  His  gaze 
rested  for  a  moment  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"Adios,  linda,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  color  deepened  in  her  cheeks.  She  under- 
stood that  he  was  telling  her  how  very  much  he  was 
her  lover  now  and  always.  "Good-bye,  amigo,"  she 
answered  lightly. 

Pesquiera  took  his  place  on  the  back  seat.  The 
whip  of  the  driver  cracked.  In  a  cloud  of  white 
dust  the  stage  disappeared  around  a  bend  in  the 
road. 

Valencia  ordered  her  horse  brought,  and  left  for 
the  ranch.  Having  dispatched  Manuel  to  the  scene 
of  action,  it  might  be  supposed  that  she  would  have 
awaited  the  issue  without  farther  activity.  But  on 
the  way  home  she  began  to  reflect  that  her  cousin 
would  not  reach  Santa  Fe  until  next  morning,  and 
there  was  always  a  chance  that  this  would  be  too 
late.  As  soon  as  she  reached  the  ranch  she  called 
up  the  station  where  the  stage  connected  with  the 
train.  To  the  operator  she  dictated  a  message  to 
be  wired  to  Richard  Gordon.  The  body  of  it  ran 
thus: 


190        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Have  heard  that  attack  may  be  made  upon  your 
life.  Please  do  not  go  out  alone  or  at  night  at  all. 
Answer." 

She  gave  urgent  instructions  that  if  necessary  to 
reach  Gordon  her  telegram  be  sent  to  every  hotel  in 
the  city  and  to  his  lawyer,  Thomas  M.  Fitt. 

Now  that  she  had  done  all  she  could  the  young 
woman  tried  to  put  the  matter  out  of  her  mind  by 
busying  herself  with  the  affairs  of  the  ranch.  She 
had  a  talk  with  a  cattle  buyer,  after  which  she  rode 
out  to  see  the  engineer  who  had  charge  of  the  build- 
ing of  the  irrigation  system  she  had  installed.  An 
answer  would,  she  was  sure,  be  awaiting  her  upon 
her  return  home. 

Her  anticipation  was  well  founded.  One  of  the 
housemaids  told  her  that  the  operator  at  San  Jacinto 
had  twice  tried  to  get  her  on  the  telephone.  The 
mistress  of  the  ranch  stepped  at  once  to  the  receiver. 

"Give  me  San  Jacinto,"  she  said  to  the  operator. 

As  soon  as  she  was  on  the  wire  with  the  operator 
he  delivered  the  message  he  had  for  her.  It  was 
from  Santa  Fe  and  carried  the  signature  of  Stephen 
Davis : 

"Gordon  has  been  missing  since  last  night.  I  fear 
the  worst.  For  God's  sake,  tell  me  what  you  know." 

Valencia  leaned  against  the  telephone   receiver 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        191 

and  steadied  herself.  She  felt  strangely  faint.  The 
wall  opposite  danced  up  and  down  and  the  floor 
swayed  like  the  deck  of  a  vessel  in  a  heavy  sea. 
She  set  her  teeth  hard  to  get  a  grip  on  herself. 
Presently  the  wave  of  light-headedness  passed. 

She  moved  across  the  room  and  sank  down  into 
a  chair  in  front  of  her  desk.  They  had  then  mur- 
dered him  after  all.  She  and  her  people  were  re- 
sponsible for  his  death.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done  now — nothing  at  all. 

Then,  out  of  the  silence,  a  voice  seemed  to  call 
to  her — the  voice  of  Richard  Gordon,  faint  and  low, 
but  clear.  She  started  to  her  feet  and  listened, 
shaken  to  the  soul  by  this  strange  summons  from 
that  world  which  lay  beyond  the  reach  of  her  physi- 
cal senses.  What  could  it  mean  ?  She  had  the  body 
of  a  healthy  young  animal.  Her  nerves  never 
played  her  any  tricks.  But  surely  there  had  come 
to  her  a  call  for  help  not  born  of  her  own  excited 
fancy. 

In  an  instant  she  had  made  up  her  mind.  Her 
finger  pressed  an  electric  button  beside  the  desk,  and 
almost  simultaneously  a  second  one.  The  maid  who 
appeared  in  the  doorway  in  answer  to  the  first  ring 
found  her  mistress  busily  writing. 

Valencia  looked  up.  "Rosario,  pack  a  suitcase 
for  me  with  clothes  for  a  week.  Put  in  my  light 


brown  dress  and  a  couple  of  shirt-waists.  I'll  be 
up  presently."  Her  gaze  passed  to  the  major  domo 
who  now  stood  beside  the  maid.  "I'm  going  to 
Santa  Fe  to-night,  Fernando.  Order  the  grays  to 
be  hitched  to  the  buggy." 

"To-night!    But,  Senorita,  the  train  has  gone." 

"Juan  will  go  with  me.  We'll  drive  right  through. 
My  business  is  important." 

"But  it  is  seventy  miles  to  Santa  Fe,  and  part  of 
the  way  over  mountain  roads,"  he  protested. 

"Yes.  We  should  reach  there  by  morning.  I 
mean  to  travel  all  night.  Make  the  arrangements, 
please,  and  tell  Juan.  Then  return  here.  I  want  to 
talk  over  with  you  the  ranch  affairs.  You  will  have 
charge  of  the  ditches,  too,  during  my  absence.  Don't 
argue,  Fernando,  but  do  as  I  say." 

The  old  man  had  opened  his  mouth  to  object,  but 
he  closed  it  without  voicing  his  views.  A  little 
smile,  born  of  his  pride  in  her  wilfulness,  touched 
his  lips  and  wrinkled  the  parchment  skin.  Was  she 
not  a  Valdes?  He  had  served  her  father  and  her 
grandfather.  To  him,  therefore,  she  could  do  no 
wrong. 


CHAPTER   XV 

ONE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS   REWARD 

The  night  of  his  disappearance  Dick  had  saun- 
tered forth  from  the  hotel  with  the  jaunty  assurance 
to  Davis  that  he  was  going  to  call  on  a  young  lady. 
He  offered  no  further  details,  and  his  friend  asked 
for  none,  though  he  wondered  a  little  what  young 
woman  in  Santa  Fe  had  induced  Gordon  to  change 
his  habits.  The  old  miner  had  known  him  from 
boyhood.  His  partner  had  never  found  much  time 
for  the  society  of  eligible  maidens.  He  had  been 
too  busy  living  to  find  tea-cup  discussions  about  life 
interesting.  The  call  of  adventure  had  absorbed 
his  youth,  and  he  had  given  his  few  mature  years 
ardently  to  the  great  American  game  of  money- 
making.  It  was  not  that  he  loved  gold.  What 
Richard  Gordon  cared  for  was  the  battle,  the  strug- 
gle against  both  honorable  and  unscrupulous  foe- 
men  for  success.  He  fought  in  the  business  world 
only  because  it  was  the  test  of  strength.  Money 
meant  power.  So  he  had  made  money. 
193 


194        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

It  was  not  until  Dick  failed  to  appear  for  break- 
fast next  morning  that  Davis  began  to  get  uneasy. 
He  sent  a  bellboy  to  awaken  Gordon,  and  presently 
the  lad  came  back  with  word  that  he  could  get  no 
answer  to  his  knocks.  Instantly  Steve  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  walked  out  of  the  room  to  the  desk 
in  the  lobby. 

"Got  a  skeleton  key  to  Mr.  Gordon's  room — 317, 
I  think  it  is?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes.  We  keep  duplicate  keys.  You  see,  Mr. 
Davis,  guests  go  away  and  carry  the  keys " 

"Then  I  want  it.  Afraid  something's  wrong  with 
my  friend.  He's  always  up  early  and  on  hand  for 
breakfast.  He  hasn't  showed  up  this  mo'ning.  The 
bell  hop  can't  waken  him.  I  tell  you  something's 
wrong." 

"Oh,  I  reckon  he'll  turn  up  all  right."  The  clerk 
turned  to  the  key  rack.  "Here's  the  key  to  Room 
317.  Mr.  Gordon  must  have  left  it  here.  Likely 
he's  gone  for  a  walk." 

Davis  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "Don't  believe 
it.  I'm  going  up  to  see,  anyhow." 

Within  five  minutes  he  discovered  that  the  bed 
in  Room  317  had  not  been  slept  in  the  previous 
night.  He  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  Gordon  had 
no  friends  in  the  town  likely  to  put  him  up  for  the 
night.  Nor  was  he  the  sort  of  rounder  to  dissipate 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        195 

his  energies  in  all-night  debauchery.  Dick  had  come 
to  Santa  Fe  for  a  definite  purpose.  The  old  miner 
knew  from  long  experience  that  he  would  not  be 
diverted  from  it  for  the  sake  of  the  futile  foolish 
diversions  known  by  some  as  pleasure.  Therefore 
the  mind  of  Davis  jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion 
of  foul  play. 

And  if  foul  play,  then  the  Valdes  claimants  to 
the  Rio  Chamo  Valley  were  the  guilty  parties.  He 
blamed  himself  bitterly  for  having  let  Dick  venture 
out  alone,  for  having  taken  no  precautions  whatever 
to  guard  him  against  the  Mexicans  who  had  already 
once  attempted  his  life. 

"I'm  a  fine  friend.  Didn't  even  find  out  who  he 
was  going  out  to  call  on.  Fact  is,  I  didn't  figure  he 
was  in  any  danger  so  long  as  he  was  in  town  here," 
he  explained  to  the  sheriff. 

He  learned  nothing  either  at  the  police  head- 
quarters or  at  the  newspaper  offices  that  threw  light 
on  the  disappearance  of  Gordon.  No  murder  had 
been  reported  during  the  night.  No  unusual  dis- 
turbance of  any  kind  had  occurred,  so  far  as  could 
be  learned. 

Before  noon  he  had  the  town  plastered  with  post- 
ers in  English  and  in  Spanish  offering  a  reward  of 
five  hundred  dollars  for  news  leading  to  the  re- 
covery of  Richard  Gordon  or  for  evidence  leading 


196        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

to  the  conviction  of  his  murderers  in  case  he  was 
dead.  This  brought  two  callers  to  the  hotel  almost 
at  once.  One  was  the  attorney  Fitt,  the  other  a 
young  woman  who  gave  her  name  as  Kate  Under- 
wood. Fitt  used  an  hour  of  the  old  miner's  time 
to  no  purpose,  but  the  young  woman  brought  with 
her  one  piece  of  news. 

"I  want  to  know  when  Mr.  Gordon  was  last 
seen,"  she  explained,  "because  he  was  calling  on  my 
mother  and  me  last  night  and  left  about  ten  o'clock." 

The  little  man  got  to  his  feet  in  great  excitement. 
"My  dear  young  woman,  you're  the  very  person 
I've  been  wanting  to  see.  He  told  me  he  was  going 
calling,  but  I'm  such  a  darned  chump  I  didn't  think 
to  ask  where.  Is  Dick  a  friend  of  your  family?" 

"No,  hardly  that.  I  met  him  when  he  came  to 
our  office  in  the  State  House  to  look  up  the  land 
grant  papers.  We  became  friendly  and  I  asked  him 
to  call  because  we  own  the  old  Valdes  house,  and  I 
thought  he  would  like  to  see  it."  She  added,  rather 
dryly:  "You  haven't  answered  my  question." 

"I'll  say  that  so  far  as  I  know  you  are  the  last 
person  who  ever  saw  Dick  alive  except  his  mur- 
derers," Davis  replied,  a  gleam  of  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  that,"  she  cried.  "They 
wouldn't  go  that  far." 

"Wouldn't  they?    He  was  shot  at  from  ambush 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        197 

while  we  were  out  riding  one  day  in  the  Chama 
Valley." 

"By  whom?" 

"By  a  young  Mexican — one  of  Miss  Valdes  serv- 
ants." 

"You  don't  mean  that  Valencia ?" 

She  stopped,  unwilling  to  put  her  horrified 
thought  into  words.  He  answered  her  meaning. 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  She  wanted  Dick  to  tell  her 
who  it  was,  so  she  could  punish  the  man.  But  that 
doesn't  alter  the  facts  any.  He  was  shot  at.  That 
time  the  murderer  missed,  but  maybe  this  time " 

Miss  Underwood  broke  in  sharply.  "Do  you 
know  that  he  has  been  followed  ever  since  he  came 
to  town,  that  men  have  dogged  his  steps  every- 
where ?" 

Davis  leaned  across  the  table  where  he  was  sit- 
ting. "How  do  you  know  ?"  he  questioned  eagerly. 

"I  saw  them  and  warned  him.  He  laughed  about 
it  and  said  he  knew  already.  He  didn't  seem  at  all 
worried." 

"Worried!  He's  just  kid  enough  to  be  tickled 
to  death  about  it,"  snapped  the  miner,  masking 
his  anxiety  with  irritation.  "He  hadn't  sense 
enough  to  tell  me  for  fear  it  would  disturb  me — 
and  I  hadn't  the  sense  to  find  out  in  several  days 
what  you  did  in  five  minutes." 


198        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Davis  and  Miss  Underwood  went  together  over 
every  foot  of  the  road  between  her  home  and  the 
hotel.  One  ray  of  hope  they  got  from  their  exam- 
ination of  the  ground  he  must  have  traversed  to 
reach  the  El  Tovar,  as  the  hotel  was  named.  At 
one  spot — where  a  double  row  of  cottonwoods  lined 
the  road — a  fence  had  been  knocked  down  and  many 
feet  had  trampled  the  sandy  pasture  within.  Steve 
picked  up  a  torn  piece  of  cloth  about  six  inches  by 
twelve  in  dimension.  It  had  evidently  been  a  part 
of  a  coat  sleeve.  He  recognized  the  pattern  as  that 
of  the  suit  his  friend  had  been  wearing. 

"A  part  of  his  coat  all  right,"  he  said.  "They 
must  have  bushwhacked  him  here.  By  the  foot- 
prints there  were  a  good  many  of  them." 

"I'm  glad  there  were." 

"Why?" 

"For  two  reasons,"  the  girl  explained.  "In  the 
first  place,  if  they  had  wanted  to  kill  him,  one  or 
two  would  have  been  enough.  They  wouldn't  take 
any  more  than  was  necessary  into  their  confidence." 

"That's  right    Your  head's  level  there." 

"And,  in  the  second  place,  two  men  can  keep  a 
secret,  but  six  or  eight  can't.  Some  one  of  them  is 
bound  to  talk  to  his  sweetheart  or  wife  or  friend." 

"True  enough.  That  five  hundred  dollars  might 
get  one  of  'em,  too." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        199 

"Somehow  I  believe  he  is  alive.  His  enemies 
have  taken  him  away  somewhere — probably  up  into 
.the  hills." 

"But  why?" 

"You  ought  to  know  that  better  than  I  do.  What 
could  they  gain  by  it  ?" 

He  scratched  his  gray  head.  "Search  me.  They 
couldn't  aim  to  hold  him  till  after  the  trial.  That 
would  be  a  kid's  play." 

"Couldn't  they  get  him  to  sign  some  paper — 
something  saying  that  he  would  give  up  his  claim — 
or  that  he  would  sell  out  cheap?" 

"No,  they  couldn't,"  the  old  man  answered 
grimly.  "But  they  might  think  they  could.  I  expect 
that's  the  play.  Dick  never  in  the  world  would 
come  through,  though.  He's  game,  that  boy  is. 
The  point  is,  what  will  they  do  when  they  find  he 
stands  the  acid  ?" 

Miss  Underwood  looked  quickly  at  him,  then 
looked  quickly  away.  She  knew  what  they  would 
do.  So  did  Davis. 

"No,  that's  not  the  point.  We  must  find  him — 
just  as  soon  as  we  can.  Stir  this  whole  town  up  and 
rake  it  with  a  fine-tooth  comb.  See  if  any  of  Miss 
ValdeY  peons  are  in  town.  If  they  are  have  them 
shadowed." 

They  separated  presently,  she  to  go  to  the  State 


200        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

House,  he  to  return  to  the  El  Tovar.  There  he 
found  the  telegram  from  Miss  Valdes  awaiting  him. 
Immediately  he  dictated  an  answer. 

Before  nightfall  a  second  supply  of  posters  deco- 
rated walls  and  billboards.  The  reward  was  raised 
to  one  thousand  dollars  for  information  that  would 
lead  to  the  finding  of  Richard  Gordon  alive  and 
the  same  sum  for  evidence  sufficient  to  convict  his 
murderers  in  case  he  was  dead.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  in  so  small  a  place,  with  everybody  dis- 
cussing the  mysterious  disappearance,  the  affair 
could  long  remain  a  secret.  Davis  did  not  doubt 
that  Miss  Underwood  was  correct  in  her  assump- 
tion that  the  assailants  of  Gordon  had  carried  him 
with  them  into  some  hidden  pocket  of  the  hills,  in 
which  case  it  might  take  longer  to  run  them  to 
earth.  The  great  danger  that  he  feared  was  panic 
on  the  part  of  the  abductors.  To  cover  their  tracks 
they  might  kill  him  and  leave  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try. The  closer  pursuit  pressed  on  them  the  more 
likely  this  was  to  happen.  It  behooved  him  to  move 
with  the  greatest  care. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

VALENCIA    MAKES    A    PROMISE 

When  Manuel  descended  from  the  El  Tovar  hack 
which  had  brought  him  from  the  station  to  that 
hotel  the  first  person  he  saw  standing  upon  the 
porch  was  Valencia  Valdes.  He  could  hardly  be- 
lieve his  eyes,  for  of  course  she  could  not  be  here. 
He  had  left  her  at  Corbett's,  had  taken  the  stage 
and  the  train,  and  now  found  her  waiting  for  him. 
The  thing  was  manifestly  impossible.  Yet  here  she 
was. 

Swiftly  she  came  down  the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"Manuel,  we  are  too  late.    Mr.  Gordon  has  gone." 

"Gone  where?"  he  asked,  his  mind  dazed  as  it 
moved  from  one  puzzle  to  another. 

"We  don't  know.  He  was  attacked  night  before 
last  and  carried  away,  whether  dead  or  alive  we 
have  no  proof." 

"One  thing  at  a  time,  Valencia.  How  did  you 
get  here?" 

"I  drove  across  the  mountains — started  when  I 
got  the  news  from  Mr.  Davis  that  his  friend  had 
disappeared." 

201 


202        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  drove  all  night — along 
mountain  roads?"  he  asked,  amazed. 

"Of  course.  I  had  to  get  here."  She  dismissed 
this  as  a  trifle  with  a  little  gesture  of  her  hand. 
"Manuel,  we  must  find  him.  I  believe  he  is  alive. 
This  is  some  of  Pablo's  work.  Down  in  old-town 
some  one  must  know  where  he  is.  Bring  him  to  me 
and  I'll  make  him  tell  what  he  has  done  with  Mr. 
Gordon." 

Pesquiera  was  healthily  hungry.  He  would  have 
liked  to  sit  down  to  a  good  breakfast,  but  he  saw 
that  his  cousin  was  laboring  under  a  heavy  nervous 
tension.  Cheerfully  he  gave  up  his  breakfast  for 
the  present. 

But  when,  three  hours  later,  he  returned  from  the 
old  adobe  Mexican  quarter  Manuel  had  nothing  to 
report  but  failure.  Pablo  had  been  seen  by  several 
people,  but  not  within  the  past  twenty-four  hours. 
Nor  had  anything  been  seen  of  Sebastian.  The 
two  men  had  disappeared  from  sight  as  completely 
as  had  Gordon. 

Valencia,  in  the  privacy  of  one  of  the  hotel  par- 
lors, broke  down  and  wept  for  the  first  time. 
Manuel  tried  to  comfort  her  by  taking  the  girl  in 
his  arms  and  petting  her.  She  submitted  to  his 
embrace,  burying  her  face  in  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Manuel,  I'm  a — a  murderess,"  she  sobbed. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        203 

"You're  a  goose,"  he  corrected.  "Haven't  you 
from  the  first  tried  to  save  this  man  from  his  own 
rashness  ?  You're  not  to  blame  in  any  way,  Val." 
-  "Yes  .  .  .  Yes,"  she  sobbed.  "Pablo  and  Se- 
bastian would  never  have  dared  touch  him  if  they 
hadn't  known  that  I'd  quarreled  with  him.  It  all 
comes  back  to  that." 

"That's  pure  nonsense.  For  that  matter,  I  don't 
believe  he's  dead  at  all.  We'll  find  him,  as  gay  and 
insolent  as  ever,  I  promise  you." 

Hope  was  buoyant  in  the  young  man's  heart.  For 
the  first  time  he  held  his  sweetheart  in  his  arms. 
She  clung  to  him,  as  a  woman  ought  to  her  lover, 
palpitant,  warm,  and  helpless.  Of  course  they 
would  find  this  pestiferous  American  who  had 
caused  her  so  much  worry.  And  then  he — Manuel 
— would  claim  his  reward. 

"Do  you  think  so  ...  really?  You're  not  just 
saying  so  because  .  .  .?"  Her  olive  cheek  turned 
the  least  in  the  world  toward  him. 

Manuel  trod  on  air.  He  felt  that  he  could  have 
flown  across  the  range  on  the  wings  of  his  joy. 

"I  feel  sure  of  it,  ninai"  Daring  much,  his  hand 
caressed  gently  the  waves  of  heavy  black  hair  that 
brushed  his  cheek. 

Almost  in  a  murmur  she  answered  him.  "Man- 
uel, find  him  and  save  him.  Afterward  .  .  ." 


204        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Afterward,  alma  miaf" 

She  nodded.    "I'll  ...  do  what  you  ask." 

"You  will  marry  me?"  he  cried,  afraid  to  believe 
that  his  happiness  had  come  at  last. 

"Yes." 

"Valencia,  you  love  me?" 

She  trod  down  any  doubts  she  might  feel.  Was 
he  not  the  one  suitable  mate  for  her  of  all  the  men' 
she  knew? 

"How  can  I  help  it.  You  are  good.  You  are 
generous.  You  serve  me  truly."  Gently  she  dis- 
engaged herself  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  a  lace 
kerchief.  "But  we  must  first  find  the  American." 

"I'll  find  him.  Dead  or  alive  I'll  bring  him  to 
you.  Dear  heart,  you've  given  me  the  strength  that 
moves  mountains." 

A  little  smile  fought  for  life  upon  her  sad  face. 
"You'll  not  have  strength  unless  you  eat.  Poor 
Manuel,  I  think  you  lost  your  breakfast.  I  ordered 
luncheon  to  be  ready  for  us  early.  We'll  eat  now." 

A  remark  of  Manuel  during  luncheon  gave  his 
vis-a-vis  an  idea. 

"Mr.  Davis  is  most  certainly  thorough.  I  never 
saw  a  town  so  plastered  with  bills  before,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Valencia  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork  as  she 
looked  at  him.  "Let's  offer  a  reward  for  Pablo 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        205 

and  Sebastian — say,  a  hundred  dollars.  That  would 
bring  us  news  of  them." 

"You're  right,"  he  agreed.  "I'll  get  bills  out  this 
afternoon.  Perhaps  I'd  better  say  no  incriminating 
questions  will  be  asked  of  those  giving  us  informa- 
tion." 

Stirred  to  activity  by  the  promise  of  such  large  re- 
wards, not  only  the  sheriff's  office  and  the  police,  but 
also  private  parties  scoured  the  neighboring  country 
for  traces  of  the  missing  man  or  his  captors.  Every 
available  horse  in  town  was  called  into  service  for 
the  man-hunt.  Others  became  sleuths  on  foot  and 
searched  cellars  and  empty  houses  for  the  body  of 
the  man  supposed  to  have  been  murdered.  Never 
in  its  history  had  so  much  suspicion  among  neigh- 
bors developed  in  the  old-town.  Many  who  could 
not  possibly  be  connected  with  the  crime  were 
watched  jealously  lest  they  snap  up  one  of  the  re- 
wards by  stumbling  upon  evidence  that  had  been 
overlooked. 

False  clews  in  abundance  were  brought  to  Davis 
and  Pesquiera.  Good  citizens  came  in  with  theories 
that  lacked  entirely  the  backing  of  any  evidence. 
One  of  these  was  that  a  flying  machine  had  de- 
scended in  the  darkness  and  that  Gordon  had  been 
carried  away  by  a  friend  to  avoid  the  payment  of 
debts  he  was  alleged  to  owe.  The  author  of  this 


206        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

explanation  was  a  stout  old  lady  of  militant  appear- 
ance who  carried  a  cotton  umbrella  large  enough 
to  cover  a  family.  She  was  extraordinarily  per- 
sistent and  left  in  great  indignation  to  see  a  lawyer 
because  Davis  would  not  pay  her  the  reward. 

That  day  and  the  next  passed  with  the  mystery 
still  unsolved.  Valencia  continued  to  stay  at  the 
hotel  instead  of  opening  the  family  town  house, 
probably  because  she  had  brought  no  servants  with 
her  from  the  valley  and  did  not  know  how  long  she 
would  remain  in  the  city.  She  and  Manuel  called 
upon  the  Underwoods  to  hear  Kate's  story,  but  from 
it  they  gathered  nothing  new.  Mrs.  Underwood 
welcomed  them  with  the  gentle  kindness  that  char- 
acterized her,  but  Kate  was  formal  and  distant. 

"She  doesn't  like  me,"  Valencia  told  her  cousin  as 
soon  as  they  had  left.  "I  wonder  why.  We  were 
good  enough  friends  as  children." 

Manuel  said  nothing.  He  stroked  his  little  black 
mustache  with  the  foreign  manner  he  had  inher- 
ited. If  he  had  cared  to  do  so  perhaps  he  could  have 
explained  Kate  Underwood's  stiffness.  Partly  it 
was  embarrassment  and  partly  shyness.  He  knew 
that  there  had  been  a  time — before  Valencia's  return 
from  college — when  Kate  lacked  very  little  of  being 
in  love  with  him.  He  had  but  to  say  the  word  to 
have  become  engaged — and  he  had  not  said  it.  For, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        207 

while  on  a  visit  to  the  East,  he  had  called  upon  his 
beautiful  cousin  and  she  had  won  his  love  at  once. 
This  had  nipped  in  the  bud  any  embryonic  romance 
that  might  otherwise  have  been  possible  with  Kate. 

A  little  old  Mexican  woman  with  a  face  like 
wrinkled  leather  was  waiting  to  see  them  in  front 
of  the  hotel. 

"Senor  Pesquiera?"  she  asked,  with  a  little  bob 
of  the  body  meant  to  be  a  bow. 

"Yes." 

"And  Senorita  Valdes?" 

"That  is  my  name,"  answered  Valencia. 

"Will  the  senor  and  the  senorita  take  a  walk? 
The  night  is  fine." 

"Where?"  demanded  Manuel  curtly. 

"Into  old-town,  senor." 

"You  have  something  to  tell  us." 

"To  show  you,  senor — for  a  hundred  dollars." 

"Sebastian — or  is  it  Pablo  ?"  cried  Valencia,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"I  say  nothing,  senorita"  whined  the  old  woman. 
"I  show  you ;  then  you  pay.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"Get  the  money,  Manuel,"  his  cousin  ordered 
quietly. 

Manuel  got  it  from  the  hotel  safe.  He  took  time 
also  to  get  from  his  room  a  revolver.  Gordon  had 
fallen  victim  to  an  ambush  and  he  did  not  intend 


208        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

to  do  so  if  he  could  help  it.  In  his  own  mind  he  had 
no  doubt  that  some  of  their  countrymen  were  sell- 
ing either  Pablo  or  Sebastian  for  the  reward,  but 
it  was  better  to  be  safe  than  to  be  sorry. 

The  old  crone  led  them  by  side  streets  into  the 
narrow  adobe-lined  roads  of  old-town.  They  passed 
through  winding  alleys  and  between  buildings 
crumbling  with  age.  Always  Manuel  watched,  his 
right  hand  in  his  coat  pocket.  At  the  entrance  to 
a  little  court  a  man  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  a 
wall.  He  whispered  with  the  old  dame  for  a 
minute. 

"Come.  Make  an  end  of  this  and  show  us  what 
you  have  to  show,  muy  pronto/'  interrupted  Man- 
uel impatiently. 

"In  good  time,  senor''  the  man  apologized. 

"Just  a  word  first,  my  friend.  I  have  a  revolver 
in  my  hand.  If  there  is  trickery  in  your  mind,  better 
give  it  up.  I'm  a  dead  shot,  and  I'll  put  the  first 
bullet  through  your  heart.  Now  lead  on." 

The  Mexican  threw  up  his  hands  in  protest  to 
all  the  saints  that  his  purpose  was  good.  He  would 
assuredly  keep  faith,  senor. 

"See  you  do,"  replied  the  Spaniard  curtly. 

Their  guide  rapped  three  times  on  a  door  of  a 
tumble-down  shack.  Cautiously  it  was  opened  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        209 

few  inches.  There  was  another  whispered  con- 
versation. 

"The  senor  and  the  senorita  can  come  in,"  said 
the  first,  man,  standing  aside. 

Manuel  restrained  the  young  woman  by  stretching 
his  left  arm  in  front  of  her. 

"Just  a  moment.  Light  a  lamp,  my  friends.  We 
do  not  go  forward  in  the  dark." 

At  this  there  was  a  further  demur,  but  finally  a 
match  flickered  and  a  lamp  was  lit.  Manuel  moved 
slowly  forward  into  the  room,  followed  by  Valencia. 
In  a  corner  of  the  room  a  man  lay  bound  upon  the 
floor,  his  back  toward  them.  One  of  the  men  rolled 
him  over  as  if  he  had  been  a  sack  of  potatoes.  The 
face  into  which  they  looked  had  been  mauled  and 
battered,  but  Valencia  had  no  trouble  in  recogniz- 
ing it. 

"Sebastian!"  she  cried. 

He  said  nothing.  A  sullen,  dogged  look  rested  on 
his  face.  Manuel  had  seen  it  before  on  the  coun- 
tenance of  many  men.  He  knew  that  the  sheep 
grazer  could  not  be  driven  to  talk. 

Miss  Valdes  might  have  known  it,  too,  but  she 
was  too  impatient  for  finesse.  "What  have  you 
done  with  Mr.  Gordon?  Tell  me — now — at  once," 
she  commanded. 


210        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  man's  eyes  did  not  lift  to  meet  hers.  Nor  did 
he  answer  a  single  word. 

"First,  our  hundred  dollars,  Senorita,"  one  of  the 
men  reminded  her. 

"It  will  be  paid  when  you  deliver  Sebastian  to  us 
in  the  street  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him,"  Man- 
uel promised. 

They  protested,  grumbling  that  they  had  risked 
enough  already  when  they  had  captured  him  an 
hour  earlier.  But  in  the  end  they  came  to  Pesqui- 
era's  condition.  The  prisoner's  hands  were  tied 
behind  him  and  his  feet  released  so  that  he  could 
walk.  Manuel  slid  one  arm  under  the  right  one  of 
Sebastian.  The  fingers  of  his  left  hand  rested  on 
the  handle  of  a  revolver  in  his  coat  pocket. 

Valencia,  all  impatience,  could  hardly  restrain 
herself  until  they  were  alone  with  their  prisoner. 
She  walked  on  the  other  side  of  her  cousin,  but  as 
soon  as  they  reached  the  Plaza  she  stopped. 

"Where  is  he,  Sebastian?  What  have  you  done 
with  him?  I  warn  you  it  is  better  to  tell  all  you 
know,"  she  cried  sternly. 

He  looked  up  at  her  doggedly,  moistened  his  lips, 
and  looked  down  again  without  a  word. 

"Speak !"  she  urged  imperiously.  "Where  is  Mr. 
Gordon  ?  Tell  me  he  is  alive.  And  what  of  Pablo  ?" 

Manuel  spoke  in  a  low  voice.     "My  cousin,  you 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        211 

are  driving  him  to  silence.  Leave  him  to  me.  He 
must  be  led,  not  driven," 

Valencia  was  beyond  reason.  She  felt  that  every 
minute  lost  was  of  tremendous  importance.  If  Gor- 
don was  alive  they  must  get  help  to  him  at  once. 
All  her  life  she  had  known  Sebastian.  When  she 
had  been  a  little  tot  he  had  taught  her  how  to  ride 
and  how  to  fish.  Since  her  return  from  college  she 
had  renewed  acquaintance  with  him.  Had  she  not 
been  good  to  his  children  when  they  had  small-pox? 
Had  she  not  sold  him  his  place  cheaper  than  any 
other  man  could  have  bought  it  ?  Why,  then,  should 
he  assume  she  was  his  enemy  ?  Why  should  he  dis- 
trust her  ?  Why,  above  all,  had  he  done  this  foolish 
and  criminal  thing? 

Her  anger  blazed  as  she  recalled  all  this  and  more. 
She  would  show  Sebastian  that  because  she  had 
been  indulgent  he  could  not  trade  defiantly  upon 
her  kindness. 

"No,"  she  told  Manuel.  "No.  I  shall  deal  with 
him  myself.  He  will  speak  or  I  shall  turn  him  over 
to  the  sheriff." 

"Let  us  at  least  go  to  the  hotel,  Valencia.  We  do 
not  want  to  gather  a  crowd  on  the  street." 

"As  you  please." 

They  reached  the  hotel  parlor  and  Valencia  gave 
Sebastian  one  more  chance. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  man  shuffled  uneasily  on  his  feet,  but  did  not 
answer. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Miss  Valdes  stiffly,  "it  is 
not  my  fault  that  you  will  have  to  go  to  the  peni- 
tentiary and  leave  your  children  without  support." 

Manuel  tried  to  stop  her,  but  Valencia  brushed 
past  and  left  the  room.  She  went  straight  to  a  tele- 
phone and  was  connected  with  the  office  of  the 
sheriff.  After  asking  that  an  officer  be  sent  at  once 
to  arrest  a  man  whom  she  was  holding  as  prisoner, 
she  hung  up  the  receiver  and  returned  to  the  parlor. 

In  all  she  could  not  have  been  absent  more  than 
five  minutes,  but  when  she  reached  the  parlor  it  was 
empty.  Both  Manuel  and  his  prisoner  had  gone. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AN   OBSTINATE    MAN 

When  Richard  Gordon  came  back  from  uncon- 
sciousness to  a  world  of  haziness  and  headaches  he 
was  quite  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  situation.  He 
knew  vaguely  that  he  was  lying  flat  on  his  back  and 
that  he  was  being  jolted  uncomfortably  to  and  fro. 
His  dazed  brain  registered  sensations  of  pain  both 
dull  and  sharp  from  a  score  of  bruised  nerve  centers. 
For  some  reason  he  could  neither  move  his  hands 
nor  lift  his  head.  His  body  had  been  so  badly 
jarred  by  the  hail  of  blows  through  which  he  had 
plowed  that  at  first  his  mind  was  too  blank  to  give 
him  explanations. 

Gradually  he  recalled  that  he  had  been  in  a  fight. 
He  remembered  a  sea  of  faces,  the  thud  of  fists,  the 
flash  of  knives.  This  must  be  the  reason  why  every 
bone  ached,  why  the  flesh  on  his  face  was  caked  and 
warm  moisture  dripped  from  cuts  in  his  scalp.  It 
dawned  upon  him  that  he  could  not  move  his  arms 
because  they  were  tied  and  that  the  interference  with 
his  breathing  was  caused  by  a  gag.  When  he  opened 
213 


214         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

his  eyes  he  saw  nothing,  but  whenever  his  face  or 
hands  stirred  from  the  jolting  something  light  and 
rough  brushed  his  flesh.  An  odor  of  alfalfa  filled 
his  nostrils.  He  guessed  that  he  was  in  a  wagon 
and  covered  with  hay. 

Where  were  they  taking  him?  Why  had  they 
not  killed  him  at  once?  Who  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  attack  upon  him?  Already  his  mind  was  busy 
with  the  problem. 

Presently  the  jolting  ceased.  He  could  hear 
guarded  voices.  The  alfalfa  was  thrown  aside  and 
he  was  dragged  from  his  place  and  carried  down 
some  steps.  The  men  went  stumbling  through  the 
dark,  turning  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left. 
They  groped  their  way  into  a  room  and  dropped 
him  upon  a  bed.  Even  now  they  struck  no  light,  but 
through  a  small  window  near  the  ceiling  moonbeams 
entered  and  relieved  somewhat  the  inky  blackness. 

"Is  he  dead  ?"  someone  asked  in  Spanish. 

"No.  His  eyes  were  open  as  we  brought  him  in," 
answered  a  second  voice  guardedly. 

They  stood  beside  the  bed  and  looked  down  at 
their  prisoner.  His  eyes  were  getting  accustomed  to 
the  darkness.  He  saw  that  one  of  the  men  was 
Pablo  Menendez.  The  other,  an  older  Mexican 
with  short  whiskers,  was  unknown  to  him. 

"He  fought  like  a  devil  from  hell.     Roderigo's 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        215 

arm  is  broken.  Not  one  of  us  but  is  marked,"  said 
the  older  man  admiringly. 

"My  head  is  ringing  yet,  Sebastian,"  agreed  Pa- 
blo. "Dios,  how  he  slammed  poor  Jose  down.  The 
blood  poured  from  his  nose  and  mouth.  Never  yet 
have  I  seen  a  man  fight  so  fierce  and  so  hard  as  this 
Americano.  He  may  be  the  devil  himself,  but  his 
claws  are  clipped  now.  And  here  he  lies  till  he  does 

as  we  want,  or "  The  young  Mexican  did  not 

finish  his  sentence,  but  the  gleam  in  his  eyes  was 
significant. 

Pablo  stooped  till  his  eyes  were  close  to  those  of 
the  bound  man.  "Senor,  shall  I  take  the  gag  from 
your  mouth?  Will  you  swear  not  to  cry  out  and 
not  to  make  any  noise?" 

Gordon  nodded. 

"So,  but  if  you  do  the  road  to  Paradise  will  be 
short  and  swift,"  continued  Menendez.  "Before 
your  shout  has  died  away  you  will  be  dead.  Sabe, 
Senor?" 

He  unknotted  the  towel  at  the  back  of  his  prison- 
er's head  and  drew  it  from  Dick's  mouth.  Gordon 
expanded  his  lungs  in  a  deep  breath  before  he  spoke 
coolly  to  his  gaoler. 

"Thank  you,  Menendez.  You  needn't  keep  your 
fist  on  that  gat.  I've  no  intention  of  committing 
suicide  until  after  I  see  you  hanged." 


216        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Which  will  be  never,  Senor  Gordon,"  replied 
Pablo  rapidly  in  Spanish.  "You  will  never  leave 
here  alive  except  on  terms  laid  down  by  us." 

"Interesting  if  true — but  not  true,  I  think,"  com- 
mented Dick  pleasantly.  "You  have  made  a  mis- 
take, my  friends,  and  you  will  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"If  we  have  made  a  mistake  it  can  yet  be  rem- 
edied, Senor,"  retorted  Pablo  quietly.  "We  have 
but  to  make  an  end  of  you  and  behold!  all  is  well 
again." 

"Afraid  not,  my  enthusiastic  young  friend.  Too 
many  in  the  secret.  Someone  will  squeal,  and  the 
rest  of  you — particularly  you  two  ringleaders — will 
be  hanged  by  the  neck.  It  takes  only  ordinary  in- 
telligence to  know  that.  Therefore  I  am  quite  safe, 
even  though  I  have  a  confounded  headache  and  a 
rising  fever."  Gordon  added  with  cheerful  solici- 
tude :  "I  do  hope  I'm  not  going  to  get  sick  on  your 
hands.  It's  rather  a  habit  of  mine,  you  know.  But, 
really,  you  can't  blame  me  this  time." 

A  danger  signal  flared  in  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Mexican.  "Better  not,  Senor.  You  will  here  have 
no  young  and  charming  nurse  to  wait  upon  you." 

"Meaning  Mrs.  Corbett?"  asked  the  prisoner, 
smiling  up  impudently. 

"Whose  heart  your  soft  words  can  steal  away 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        217 

from  him  to  whom  it  belongs,"  continued  Pablo 
furiously. 

"Sho,  I  reckon  Corbett " 

"Mil  diablos!" 

A  devil  of  jealousy  was  burning  out  of  the  black 
eyes  that  blazed  into  those  of  the  American.  It  was 
no  longer  possible  for  Dick  to  miss  the  menace  and 
its  meaning.  The  Mexican  was  speaking  of  Juanita. 
He  believed  that  his  prisoner  had  been  making  love 
to  the  girl  and  his  heart  was  black  with  hate  because 
of  it. 

Gordon  looked  at  him  steadily,  then  summed  up 
with  three  derisive  words.  "You  damn  fool !" 

Something  in  the  way  he  said  them  shook  Pablo's 
conviction.  Was  it  possible  after  all  that  his  jeal- 
ousy had  been  useless?  Juanita  had  told  him  that 
all  through  his  delirium  this  man  had  raved  of  Miss 

Valdes.  Perhaps But,  no,  had  he  not  with 

his  own  eyes  seen  the  man  bantering  Juanita  while 
the  color  came  and  went  in  her  wild  rose  cheeks? 
Had  he  not  seen  him  lean  on  her  shoulder  as  he 
hobbled  out  to  the  porch,  just  as  a  lover  might  on 
that  of  his  sweetheart? 

With  an  oath  Pablo  turned  sullenly  away.  He 
knew  he  was  no  match  for  this  man  at  any  point. 
Yet  he  was  a  leader  among  his  own  people  because 
of  the  force  in  him. 


218        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Gordon  slept  little  during  the  night.  He  had  been 
so  badly  beaten  that  outraged  nature  took  her  re- 
venge in  a  feverish  restlessness  that  precluded  any 
real  rest.  With  the  coming  of  day  the  temperature 
subsided.  Pablo  brought  a  basin  of  water  and  a 
sponge,  with  which  he  washed  the  bloody  face  and 
head  of  the  bound  man. 

Dick  observed  that  his  nurse  had  a  few 'marks 
of  his  own  as  souvenirs  of  the  battle.  The  cheek 
bone  had  been  laid  open  by  a  blow  that  must  have 
been  made  with  his  knuckles.  One  eye  was  half 
shut,  and  beneath  it  was  a  deep  purple  swelling. 

"Had  quite  a  little  jamboree,  didn't  we?"  re- 
marked Gordon,  with  a  grin.  "I'll  bet  you  lads 
mussed  my  hair  up  some." 

Pablo  said  nothing,  but  after  he  had  made  his 
unwilling  guest  as  presentable  and  comfortable  as 
possible  he  proceeded  to  business. 

"You  want  to  know  why  we  have  made  you  pris- 
oner, Senor  Gordon?"  he  suggested.  "It  has  per- 
haps occur  to  you  that  it  would  have  been  much 
easier  to  shoot  you  and  be  done?" 

"Yes,  that  has  struck  me,  Menendez.  I  reckon 
your  nerve  didn't  quite  run  to  murder  maybe." 

"Not  so.  I  spare  you  because  you  save  my 
brother's  life  after  he  shoot  at  you.  But  I  exact 
conditions.  So?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        219 

The  eyes  of  the  miner  had  grown  hard  and 
steelly.  The  lids  had  closed  on  them  so  that  only 
slits  were  open.  "Let's  hear  them." 

"First,  that  you  give  what  is  called  word  of  honor 
not  to  push  any  charges  against  those  taking  you 
prisoner." 

"Pass  that  for  the  present,"  ordered  Dick  curtly. 
"Number  two  please." 

"That  you  sign  a  paper  drawn  up  by  a  lawyer 
giving  all  your  rights  in  the  Rio  Chama  Valley  to 
Senorita  Valdes  and  promise  never  to  go  near  the 
valley  again." 

"Nothing  doing,"  answered  the  prisoner 
promptly,  his  jaws  snapping  tight. 

"But  yes — most  assuredly  yes.  I  risk  much  to 
save  your  life.  But  you  must  go  to  meet  me,  Scnor. 
Is  a  man's  life  not  worth  all  to  him?  So?  Sign, 
and  you  live." 

The  eyes  of  the  men  had  fastened — the  fierce, 
black,  eager  ones  of  the  Mexican  and  the  steelly 
gray  ones  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  There  was  the 
rigor  of  battle  in  that  gaze,  the  grinding  of  rapier 
on  rapier.  Gordon  was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of 
his  enemy.  He  lay  exhausted  from  a  terrible  beat- 
ing. That  issues  of  life  and  death  hung  in  the  bal- 
ance a  child  might  have  guessed.  But  victory  lay 


220        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

with  the  white  man.  The  lids  of  Menendez  fell 
over  sullen,  angry  eyes. 

"You  are  a  fool,  Senor.  We  go  to  prison  for  no 
man  who  is  our  enemy.  Pouf!  When  the  hour 
comes  I  snuff  out  your  life  like  that."  And  Pablo 
snapped  his  fingers  airily. 

"Maybe — and  maybe  not.  I  figure  on  living  to 
be  an  old  man.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Menendez. 
Turn  me  loose  and  I'll  forget  about  our  little  rumpus 
last  night.  I'd  ought  to  send  you  to  the  pen,  but 
I'll  consent  to  forego  that  pleasure." 

Sulkily  Pablo  turned  away.  What  could  one  do 
with  a  madman  who  insisted  on  throwing  his  life 
away?  The  young  Mexican  was  not  a  savage, 
though  the  barbaric  strain  in  his  wild  lawless  blood 
was  still  strong.  He  did  not  relish  the  business  of 
killing  in  cold  blood  even  the  man  he  hated. 

"If  you  kill  me  you'll  hang,"  went  on  Gordon 
composedly.  "You'll  never  get  away  with  it.  Your 
own  friends  will  swear  your  neck  into  a  noose. 
Your  partner  Sebastian — you'll  excuse  me  if  I  ap- 
pear familiar,  but  I  don't  know  the  gentleman's 
other  name — will  turn  State's  evidence  to  try  to 
save  his  own  neck.  But  I 'reckon  he'll  have  to  climb 
the  ladder,  too." 

Sebastian  pushed  aside  his  companion  angrily  and 
took  the  American  by  the  throat. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"For  Dios,  I  show  you.  If  I  hang  I  hang — but 

you "  His  muscular  fingers  tightened  till  the 

face  of  his  enemy  grew  black.  But  the  eyes — the 
steady,  cool,  contemptuous  eyes — still  looked  into 
his  defiantly. 

Pablo  dragged  his  accomplice  from  the  bedside. 
The  time  might  come  for  this,  but  it  was  not  yet. 

It  had  been  a  close  thing  for  Gordon.  If  those 
lean,  strong  fingers  had  been  given  a  few  seconds 
more  at  his  throat  they  would  have  snapped  the 
cord  of  life.  But  gradually  the  distorted  face  re- 
sumed its  natural  hue  as  the  coughing,  strangling 
man  began  to  breathe  again. 

"Your — friend — is — impetuous,"  Dick  suggested 
to  Pablo  as  soon  as  he  could  get  the  words  out  one 
at  a  time. 

"He  will  shake  the  life  out  of  you  as  a  terrier 
does  that  of  a  rat,"  Pablo  promised  vindictively. 

"There's  no  fun — in  being  strangled,  as  you'll 
both — find  out  later,"  the  prisoner  retorted  whim- 
sically but  with  undaunted  spirit. 

Sebastian  had  left  the  room.  At  the  expiration 
of  half  an  hour  he  returned  with  a  tray,  upon 
which  were  two  plates  with  food  and  two  cups  of 
steaming  coffee.  The  Mexicans  ate  their  ham  and 
their  frijoles  and  drank  their  coffee.  The  prisoner 
they  ignored. 


222        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Don't  I  draw  even  a  Libby  Prison  allowance?" 
the  American  wanted  to  know. 

"You  eat  and  you  drink  after  you  have  signed 
the  paper,"  Pablo  told  him, 

"I  always  did  think  we  ate  too  much  and  too 
often.  Much  obliged  for  a  chance  to  work  out  my 
theories." 

Gordon  turned  his  back  upon  them,  his  face  to 
the  wall.  Presently,  in  spite  of  the  cramped  posi- 
tion necessitated  by  his  bound  arms,  he  yielded  to 
weariness  and  fell  asleep.  Sebastian  lay  down  in  a 
corner  of  the  room  and  also  slept.  He  and  Pablo 
would  have  to  relieve  each  other  as  watchmen  so 
long  as  they  held  their  prisoner.  For  that  reason 
they  must  get  what  rest  they  could  during  the  day. 

Menendez  found  himself  the  victim  of  conflict- 
ing emotions.  It  had  been  easy  while  they  were 
plotting  the  abduction  to  persuade  himself  that  the 
man  would  grant  anything  to  save  his  life.  Now 
he  doubted  this.  Looking  down  at  the  battered 
face  of  the  miner,  so  lean  and  strong  and  virile,  he 
could  not  withhold  a  secret  reluctant  admiration. 
How  was  it  possible  for  him  to  sleep  so  easily  and 
lightly  while  he  lay  within  the  shadow  of  violent 
death?  There  was  even  a  little  smile  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  as  if  he  were  enjoying  pleas- 
ant dreams.  Never  had  Pablo  known  another  man 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

like  this  one.  Had  he  not  broken  the  spirit  of  that 
outlaw  devil  Teddy  in  ten  minutes?  Who  else 
could  shoot  the  heads  off  chickens  at  a  distance  as 
he  had  done?  Was  there  another  in  New  Mexico 
that  could,  though  taken  at  advantage,  put  up  so 
fierce  a  fight  against  big  odds?  The  young  Mex- 
ican hated  him  because  of  Juanita  and  his  opposi- 
tion to  Miss  Valdes.  But  the  untamed  and  gallant 
spirit  of  the  young  man  went  out  in  spite  of  him- 
self in  homage  to  the  splendid  courage  and  efficiency 
of  his  victim. 

Not  till  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  did  Gordon 
awaken.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  his  hands 
were  free.  Of  Menendez  he  asked  an  explanation. 

Pablo  gave  him  none.  How  could  he  say  that  he 
was  ashamed  to  keep  him  tied  while  two  armed  men 
were  in  the  room  to  watch  him? 

"Move  from  that  bed  and  I'll  blow  your  brains 
out,"  the  Mexican  growled  in  Spanish. 

Presently  Pablo  brought  him  a  tin  dipper  filled 
with  water. 

"Drink,  Senor,"  he  ordered  ungraciously. 

Dick  drank  the  last  drop  and  smiled  at  his  guard 
gratefully.  "You're  white  in  spots,  Mr.  Miscreant, 
though  you  hate  to  think  it  of  yourself,"  he  said 
lightly. 

Odd  as  it  may  seem,   Gordon  found  a  curious 


224        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

pleasure  in  exploring  the  mind  of  the  young  man. 
He  detected  the  struggle  going  on  in  it,  and  he  made 
remarks  so  uncannily  wise  that  the  Mexican  was 
startled  at  his  divination.  The  miner  held  no 
grudge.  These  men  were  his  enemies  because  they 
thought  him  a  selfish  villain  who  ought  to  be  frus- 
trated in  his  designs.  Long  ago,  in  that  school  of 
experience  which  had  made  him  the  hard,  compe- 
tent man  he  was,  Dick  had  learned  the  truth  of  the 
saying  that  to  know  all  is  to  forgive  all.  He  him- 
self had  done  bold  and  lawless  things  often  enough, 
but  it  was  seldom  that  he  did  a  mean  one.  Warily 
alert  though  he  was  for  a  chance  to  escape,  his 
feelings  were  quite  impersonal  toward  these  Mex- 
icans. Confronted  with  the  need,  he  would  kill  if 
he  must  to  save  himself;  but  it  would  not  be  be- 
cause he  was  vindictive. 

Dick's  mind  was  alert  to  every  chance  of  escape. 
He  studied  his  situation  as  well  as  he  could  without 
moving  from  the  bed.  From  the  glimpse  of  the 
house  he  had  had  as  the  two  men  carried  him  in  he 
knew  that  it  was  a  large,  modern  one  set  in  grounds 
of  considerable  size.  He  had  been  brought  down  a 
flight  of  steps  and  was  now  in  the  basement.  Was 
the  house  an  unoccupied  one?  Or  was  it  in  the 
possession  of  some  one  friendly  to  the  scheme  upon 
which  the  Mexicans  had  engaged? 


'A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        225 

A  suspicion  had  startled  him  just  after  the  men 
finished  eating,  but  he  had  dismissed  it  as  a  fantasy 
of  his  excited  imagination.  Sebastian,  carrying  out 
the  dishes,  had  dropped  a  spoon  and  left  it  lying 
beside  the  bed.  Dick  contrived,  after  he  had 
wakened,  to  roll  close  to  the  edge  and  look  down. 
The  spoon  was  still  there.  Two  letters  were  en- 
graved upon  the  handle.  They  were  A.  V.  If  these 
stood  for  Alvaro  Valdes,  then  this  must  be  the  town 
house  of  Valencia,  and  she  was  probably  a  party  to 
his  abduction. 

He  could  not  without  distress  of  heart  accept  such 
a  conclusion.  She  was  his  enemy,  but  she  had 
seemed  to  him  so  frank  and  generous  a  one  that 
complicity  in  a  plot  of  this  nature  had  no  part  in 
the  picture  of  her  his  mind  had  drawn.  He  wrestled 
with  the  thought  of  this  until  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer. 

"Did  Miss  Valdes  come  to  town  herself,  or  is  she 
letting  you  run  this  abduction,  Menendez?"  he 
asked  suddenly. 

Pablo  repeated  stupidly,  "Miss  Valdes — the 
senorita?" 

The  keen,  hard  eyes  of  Gordon  did  not  lift  for 
an  instant  from  those  of  the  other  man.  "That's 
what  I  said." 

It  occurred  to  the  Mexican  that  this  was  a  chance 


226        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

to  do  a  stroke  of  business  for  his  mistress.  He 
would  show  the  confident  Americano  what  place  he 
held  in  her  regard. 

His  shoulders  lifted  in  a  shrug.  "You  are  clevair, 
Senor.  How  do  you  know  the  senorita  knows  ?" 

"This  is  her  house.  She  told  you  to  bring  me 
here." 

Pablo  was  surprised.  "So?  You  know  it  is  her 
house?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know." 

"The  senorita  trusts  me.    She  is  at  the  ranch." 

"But  you  are  acting  under  her  orders  ?" 

"If  the  senor  pleases." 

Dick  turned  his  back  to  the  wall  again.  His  heart 
was  bitter  within  him.  He  had  thought  her  a 
sportsman,  every  inch  a  thoroughbred.  But  she 
had  set  her  peons  to  spy  on  him  and  to  attack  him 
— ten  to  one  in  their  favor — so  that  she  might  force 
him  to  sign  away  his  rights  to  her.  Very  well.  He 
would  show  her  whether  she  could  drive  him  to  sur- 
render, whether  she  could  starve  him  into  doing 
what  he  did  not  want  to  do. 

The  younger  Mexican  wakened  Sebastian  late  in 
the  afternoon  and  left  him  to  guard  the  prisoner 
while  he  went  into  the  town  to  hear  what  rumors 
were  flying  about  the  affair.  About  an  hour  later 
he  returned,  bringing  with  him  some  provisions,  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        227 

newspaper,  and  a  handbill.  The  latter  he  tossed  to 
Gordon. 

"Sefior,  I  never  saw  five  hundred  dollars  dang- 
ling within  reach  before.  Shall  I  go  to  your  friend 
and  give  him  information  ?"  asked  Pablo. 

Dick  read  the  poster  through  with  interest. 
"Good  old  Steve.  He's  getting  busy.  Inside  of 
twenty-four  hours  he'll  ferret  out  this  spot." 

"It  may  be  too  late,"  Pablo  flung  back  signifi- 
cantly. "If  they  press  us  hard  we'll  finish  the  job 
and  make  a  run  for  it." 

They  were  talking  in  Spanish,  as  they  did  most 
of  the  time.  The  prisoner  read  aloud  the  offer  on 
the  handbill. 

"Please  notice  that  I'm  worth  no  more  alive  than 
you  are  if  I'm  dead.  I  reckon  this  town  is  full  of 
friends  of  yours  anxious  to  earn  five  hundred 
plunks  by  giving  a  little  information.  Let  me  ask 
a  question  of  you.  Suppose  you  do  finish  the  job 
and  hit  the  trail.  Where  would  you  go  ?" 

"The  hills  are  full  of  pockets.  We  could  hide 
and  watch  a  chance  to  get  out  of  the  country." 

"We  wouldn't  have  to  hide.  Jesu  Cristo,  who 
would  know  we  did  it?"  chipped  in  Sebastian 
roughly. 

"Everybody  will  know  it  soon.  You  made  a  bad 
mistake  when  you  didn't  bump  me  off  at  the  start. 


228        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

All  your  friends  that  helped  bushwhack  me  will  itch 
to  get  that  five  hundred,  Sebastian.  As  to  hiding — 
well,  I  was  a  ranger  once.  Offer  a  reward,  and 
everybody  is  on  the  jump  to  earn  it.  The  way  these 
hills  are  being  combed  this  week  by  anxious  man- 
hunters  you'd  never  reach  your  cache." 

"Maybe  we  would  and  maybe  we  wouldn't.  We'll 
have  to  take  a  chance  on  that,"  replied  the  bearded 
Mexican  sullenly. 

To  their  prisoner  it  was  plain  that  the  men  were 
growing  more  anxious  every  hour.  They  regretted 
the  course  they  had  followed  and  yet  could  see  no 
way  of  safety  opening  to  them.  Suspicious  by  na- 
ture, Sebastian  judged  the  American  by  himself. 
If  their  positions  were  reversed,  he  knew  he  would 
break  any  pledge  he  might  make  and  go  straight  to 
the  sheriff  with  his  story.  Therefore  they  could 
not  with  safety  release  the  man.  To  kill  him  would 
be  dangerous.  To  keep  him  prisoner  was  possible 
only  for  a  limited  time.  Whatever  course  they  fol- 
lowed seemed  precarious  and  uncertain.  Tempera- 
mentally he  was  inclined  to  put  an  end  to  the  man 
and  try  a  bolt  for  the  hills,  but  he  found  in  Pablo 
an  unexpected  difficulty.  The  young  man  would  not 
hear  of  this.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  let 
Gordon  be  killed  if  he  could  prevent  it,  though  he 
did  not  tell  the  American  so. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        229 

Menendez  made  another  trip  after  supplies  next 
day,  but  he  came  back  hurriedly  without  them. 
Pesquiera's  poster  offering  a  reward  of  one  hun- 
dred dollars  for  the  capture  of  him  or  Sebastian 
had  brought  him  up  short  and  sent  him  scurrying 
back  to  his  hole. 

Gordon  used  the  poster  for  a  text.  His  heart 
was  jubilant  within  him,  for  he  knew  now  that 
Valencia  was  not  back  of  this  attack  upon  him. 

"All  up  with  you  now,"  he  assured  them  in  a 
genial,  offhand  fashion.  "Miss  Valdes  must  be 
backing  Pesquiera.  They  know  you  two  are  the 
guilty  villains.  Inside  of  twelve  hours  they'll  have 
you  both  hogtied." 

Clearly  the  conspirators  were  of  that  opinion 
themselves.  They  talked  together  a  good  deal  in 
whispers.  Dick  was  of  the  opinion  that  a  proposi- 
tion would  be  made  him  before  morning,  though  it 
was  just  possible  that  the  scale  might  tip  the  other 
way  and  his  death  be  voted.  He  spent  a  very  anx- 
ious hour. 

After  dark  Sebastian,  who  was  less  well  known 
in  the  town  than  Pablo,  departed  on  an  errand  un- 
known to  Gordon.  The  miner  guessed  that  he  was 
going  to  make  arrangements  for  horses  upon  which 
to  escape.  Dick  was  not  told  their  decision.  Men- 
endez had  fallen  sulky  again  and  refused  to  talk. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

MANUEL   INTERFERES 

Valencia  had  scarcely  left  the  parlor  to  telephone 
for  the  sheriff  before  Manuel  flashed  a  knife  and 
cut  the  rope  that  tied  his  prisoner's  hands. 

Sebastian  had  shrunk  back  at  sight  of  the  knife, 
but  when  he  found  that  he  was  free  he  stared  at 
Pesquiera  in  startled  amazement. 

"Come!  Let's  get  out  of  here.  We  can  talk 
when  you  are  free  of  danger,"  said  Manuel  with 
sharp  authority  in  his  voice. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  corridor,  walked  quickly 
down  one  passage  and  along  another,  and  so  by  a 
back  stairway  into  the  alley  in  the  rear.  Within  a 
few  minutes  they  were  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
El  Tovar. 

Sebastian,  still  suspicious,  yet  aware  that  for 
some  reason  Don  Manuel  was  unexpectedly  on  his 
side,  awaited  explanations. 

"Dona  Valdes  is  quite  right,  Sebastian.  She 
means  well,  but  she  is,  after  all,  a  woman.  This  is 

230 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        231 

a  man's  business,  and  you  and  I  can  settle  it  better 
alone."  Manuel  smiled  with  an  air  of  frank  confi- 
dence at  his  former  prisoner.  "You  are  in  a  serious 
fix — no  doubt  at  all  about  that.  The  question  is  to 
find  the  best  way  out." 

"Sif  Scnor." 

Pesquiera's  bright  black  eyes  fastened  on  him  as 
he  flung  a  question  at  the  man.  "I  suppose  this 
Gordon  is  still  alive." 

Sebastian  nodded  gloomily.  "He  is  like  a  cat 
with  its  nine  lives.  We  have  beaten  and  starved 
him,  but  he  laughs — this  Gringo  devil — and  tells  us 
he  will  live  to  see  us  wearing  stripes  in  prison." 

"Muy  bien."  Manuel  talked  on  briskly,  so  as  to 
give  the  slower-witted  Mexican  no  time  to  get  set  in 
obstinacy.  "I  should  be  able  to  arrange  matters 
then.  We  must  free  the  man  after  I  have  his  word 
to  tell  nothing." 

"But  he  will  run  straight  to  the  sheriff,"  pro- 
tested Sebastian. 

"Not  if  he  gives  his  word.  I'll  see  to  that. 
Where  have  you  him  hidden?"  The  young  Span- 
iard asked  the  question  carelessly,  almost  indiffer- 
ently, as  if  it  were  merely  a  matter  of  course. 

Sebastian  opened  his  mouth  to  tell — and  then 
closed  it.  He  had  had  no  intention  of  telling  any- 
thing. Now  he  found  he  had  told  everything  ex- 


232        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

cept  their  hiding-place.  The  suspicion  which  lay 
coiled  in  his  heart  lifted  its  head  like  a  snake.  Was 
he  being  led  into  a  trap?  Would  Don  Manuel  be- 
tray him  to  the  law?  The  gleaming  eyes  of  the 
man  narrowed  and  grew  hard. 

Manuel,  intuitively  sensing  this,  hurried  on.  "It 
can  be  a  matter  of  only  hours  now  until  they  stum- 
ble upon  your  hiding-place.  If  this  happens  before 
we  have  come  to  terms  with  Gordon  you  are  lost. 
I  have  come  to  town  to  save  you  and  Pablo.  But 
I  can't  do  this  unless  you  trust  me.  Take  me  to 
Gordon  and  let  me  talk  with  him.  Blindfold  me  if 
you  like.  But  lose  no  time." 

As  Sebastian  saw  it,  this  was  a  chance.  He  knew 
Manuel  was  an  honest  man.  His  reputation  was  of 
the  best.  Reluctantly  he  gave  way. 

"The  Americano  is  at  the  Valdes  house,"  he  ad- 
mitted sulkily. 

"At  the  Valdes  house  ?  Why,  in  Heaven's  name, 
did  you  take  him  there  ?" 

"How  could  we  tell  that  the  Senorita  would  come 
to  town?  The  house  was  empty.  Pablo  worked 
there  in  the  stables  as  a  boy.  So  we  moved  in." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Pablo  opened  the  outer 
basement  door  in  answer  to  the  signal  agreed  upon 
by  them.  He  had  left  the  prisoner  upon  the  bed 
with  his  hands  tied.  Sebastian  entered.  Pablo  no- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        238 

ticed  that  another  man  was  standing  outside.  In- 
stantly his  rifle  covered  him.  For,  though  others 
of  their  countrymen  had  been  employed  to  help 
capture  Gordon,  none  of  these  knew  where  he  was 
hidden. 

"It  is  Don  Manuel  Pesquiera,"  explained  Sebas- 
tian. "I  brought  him  here  to  help  us  out  of  this 
trouble  we  are  in.  Let  him  in  and  I  will  tell  you 
all." 

For  an  instant  Pablo  suspected  that  his  accom- 
plice had  sold  him,  but  he  dismissed  the  thought  al- 
most at  once.  He  had  known  Sebastian  all  his  life. 
He  stepped  aside  and  let  Pesquiera  come  into  the 
hall. 

The  three  men  talked  for  a  few  minutes  and  then 
passed  into  the  bedroom  where  the  prisoner  was 
confined.  Evidently  this  had  formerly  been  the 
apartment  of  the  cook,  who  had  slept  in  the  base- 
ment in  order  no  doubt  to  be  nearer  her  work. 
Pesquiera  looked  around  and  at  last  made  out  a  fig- 
ure in  the  darkness  lying  upon  the  bed. 

He  stepped  forward,  observing  that  the  man  on 
the  bed  had  his  hands  bound.  Bending  down,  he 
recognized  the  face  of  Gordon.  Beaten  and  bruised 
and  gaunt  from  hunger  it  was,  but  the  eyes  still 
gleamed  with  the  same  devil-may-care  smile. 

"Happy  to  meet  you,  Don  Manuel." 


234         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  Spaniard's  heart  glowed  with  admiration. 
He  did  not  like  the  man.  It  was  his  intention  to 
fight  him  as  soon  as  possible  for  the  insult  that  had 
been  put  upon  him  some  weeks  earlier.  But  his 
spirit  always  answered  to  the  call  of  courage,  and 
Gordon's  pluck  was  so  debonair  he  could  not  refuse 
a  reluctant  appreciation. 

"I  regret  to  see  you  thus,  Mr.  Gordon,"  he  said. 

"Might  have  been  worse.  Sebastian  has  had  se- 
vere-al  notions  about  putting  me  out  of  business. 
I'm  lucky  to  be  still  kicking." 

"I  have  come  from  Miss  Valdes.  She  came  to 
Santa  Fe  when  she  heard  from  your  friend  Mr. 
Davis  that  you  had  disappeared.  To-night  we  saw 
Sebastian  for  the  first  time.  He  brought  me  here." 

"Good  of  him,"  commented  Dick  ironically. 

"You  will  be  freed  of  course — at  once."  Manuel 
drew  out  his  knife  and  cut  the  cords  that  bound  the 
prisoner.  "But  I  must  ask  your  forbearance  in 
behalf  of  Sebastian  and  Pablo  and  the  others  that 
have  injured  you.  May  I  give  them  your  pledge 
not  to  appear  as  a  witness  against  them  for  what 
they  have  done  ?" 

"Fine!  I'm  to  be  mauled  and  starved  and  kid- 
naped, but  I'm  to  say  'Thank  you  kindly'  for  these 
small  favors,  hoping  for  a  continuance  of  the  same. 
You  have  another  guess  coming,  Mr.  Pesquiera.  I 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        235 

offered  those  terms  two  days  ago.  They  weren't 
accepted.  My  ideas  have  changed,  I'm  going  to 
put  your  friends  behind  the  bars — unless  you  de- 
cide to  let  them  murder  me  instead.  I've  been  the 
goat  long  enough." 

"Your  complaint  is  just,  Mr.  Gordon.  It  iss  your 
right  to  enforce  the  law.  Most  certainly  it  iss  your 
right.  But  consider  my  position.  Sebastian  brought 
me  here  only  upon  my  pledge  to  secure  from  you  a 
promise  not  to  press  your  rights.  What  shall  I  do  ? 
I  must  see  that  you  are  released.  That  goes  with- 
out saying.  But  shall  I  break  faith  with  him  and 
let  him  be  delivered  to  justice?  I  have  given  my 
word,  remember." 

Gordon  looked  up  at  him  with  his  lean  jaw  set. 
"You  couldn't  give  my  word,  could  you?  Very 
well.  Go  away.  Forget  that  you've  seen  me.  I'll 
be  a  clam  so  far  as  you  are  concerned.  But  if  I 
get  free  I'm  going  to  make  things  hot  for  these  lads 
that  think  they  can  play  Ned  with  me.  They're  go- 
ing to  the  pen,  every  last  one  of  them.  I'm  going 
to  see  this  thing  out  to  a  finish  and  find  out  if  there's 
any  law  in  New  Mexico." 

Manuel  stiffened.  "You  put  me  in  an  awkward 
position,  Mr.  Gordon.  I  have  no  choice  but  to  see 
you  are  set  at  liberty.  But  my  honor  is  involved. 
These  men  shall  not  go  to  prison.  They  have  made 


236        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

a  serious  mistake,  but  they  are  not  what  you  call 
criminals.  You  know  well " 

"I  know  that  they  and  their  friends  have  shot  at 
me,  ambushed  me,  beaten  me,  and  starved  me. 
They've  been  wanting  to  kill  me  ever  since  they  got 
me  here — at  least  one  of  them  has — but  they  just 
didn't  have  the  guts  to  do  it.  What  is  your  defini- 
tion of  a  criminal  anyhow?  Your  friends  here  fill 
the  specifications  close  enough  to  suit  me.  I  ain't 
worried  about  their  being  too  good  for  the  company 
they'll  join  at  the  pen." 

"You  are  then  resolve',  Senor?" 

"That's  what  I  am.  I'm  going  to  see  they  get  the 
limit.  I've  not  got  a  thing  against  you,  Mr.  Pes- 
quiera,  and  I'd  like  to  oblige  you  if  I  could.  But 
I'm  playing  this  hand  myself." 

The  Spaniard  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  voice. 
"These  men  are  the  people  of  Miss  Valdes.  She 
drove  all  night  across  the  mountains  to  get  here 
sooner  when  she  found  you  were  gone.  She  offered 
and  paid  a  reward  of  one  hundred  dollars  to  help 
find  you.  Do  you  not  owe  something  to  her?" 

"I  owe  one  hundred  dollars  and  my  thanks,  sir. 
I'll  pay  them  both.  But  Miss  Valdes  cannot  ask  me 
to  give  up  prosecuting  these  men  because  she  would 
not  stand  back  and  see  murder  done." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        237 

"Will  you  then  leave  it  to  her  to  punish  these 
men?" 

"No.     I  pay  my  own  debts." 

Manuel  was  troubled.  He  had  expected  to  find 
the  prisoner  so  eager  for  release  that  he  would  con- 
sent at  once  to  his  proposal.  Instead,  he  found  a 
man  hard  and  cold  as  steel.  Yet  he  had  to  admit 
that  Gordon  claimed  only  his  rights.  No  man  could 
be  expected  to  stand  without  an  appeal  to  the  law 
such  outrageous  treatment  as  he  had  been  given. 

"Will  you  consent  then  to  settle  the  matter  with 
me,  man  to  man  ?  These  men  are  but  peons.  They 
are  like  cattle  and  do  not  think.  But  I — I  am  a 
more  worthy  foeman.  Let  me  take  the  burden  of 
their  misdeeds  on  my  shoulders." 

Dick  wagged  a  forefinger  at  him  warningly. 
"Now  you've  got  that  swashbuckler  notion  of  a  duel 
again.  I'm  no  cavalier  of  Spain,  but  a  plain  Amer- 
ican business  man,  Don  Quixote.  As  for  these  jail- 
birds"— his  hand  swept  the  room  to  include  the 
Mexicans — "since  I'm  an  unregenerate  human  I 
mean  to  make  'em  pay  for  what  they've  done. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Don  Manuel  bowed.  "Very  good,  Mr.  Gordon. 
We  shall  see.  I  promise  you  that  I  shall  stand  be- 
tween them  and  prison.  I  offer  you  a  chance  to 


238        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

win  the  friendship  of  the  Mexicans  in  the  valley. 
You  decline.  So  be  it.  I  wash  my  hands,  sir." 

He  turned  away  and  gave  directions  to  Pablo, 
who  left  the  room  at  once.  The  Spaniard  called 
for  candles  and  lit  two.  He  pointedly  ignored  Gor- 
don, but  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  whistling 
softly  a  popular  air. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Pablo  returned 
with  a  hot  meal  on  a  tray.  Gordon,  having  done 
without  food  for  two  days,  ate  his  ham  and  eggs 
and  drank  his  coffee  with  an  appetite  given  to  few 
men.  Meanwhile  Pesquiera  withdrew  to  the  pas- 
sage and  laid  down  an  ultimatum  to  the  Mexicans. 
They  must  take  horse  at  once  and  get  back  to  the 
hills  above  the  Rio  Chama  Valley.  He  would  bring 
saddle  horses  from  a  stable  so  that  they  could  start 
within  the  hour  and  travel  all  night. 

The  Mexicans  listened  sullenly.  But  they  knew 
that  the  matter  was  now  out  of  their  hands.  Since 
the  arrival  of  Pesquiera  it  had  become  manifestly 
impossible  to  hold  their  prisoner  longer.  They 
agreed  to  the  plan  of  the  Spaniard  reluctantly. 

After  Pablo  and  Sebastian  had  taken  horse  Pes- 
quiera returned  to  the  prisoner. 

"We  will,  if  it  pleases  you,  move  upstairs,  Mr. 
Gordon,"  he  announced.  "To-night  I  must  ask  you 
to  remain  in  the  house  with  me  to  give  those  poor 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        239 

fools  a  little  start  on  their  ride  for  freedom.  We 
shall  find  better  beds  upstairs  no  doubt." 

"They're  hitting  the  trail,  are  they  ?"  Dick  asked 
negligently  as  he  followed  his  guide. 

"Yes.  If  you'll  give  me  your  parole  till  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Gordon,  I  shall  be  able  to  return  to  Miss 
Valdes  and  let  her  know  that  all  is  well.  Otherwise 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  sit  up  and  see  that  you  do  not 
get  active  in  interfering  with  the  ride  of  Pablo  and 
his  friend." 

"I'll  stay  here  till  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Is  that  late  enough?  Then  I'll  see  the  sheriff 
and  start  things  moving." 

Pesquiera  bowed  in  his  grand,  formal  manner. 
"The  terms  satisfy.  I  wish  Mr.  Gordon  a  very 
good  night's  sleep.  This  room  formerly  belonged 
to  the  brother  of  Miss  Valdes.  It  is  curious,  but 
she  was  here  airing  this  room  only  to-day.  She  did 
not  know  you  were  in  the  house  at  the  time.  Adios, 
Senor." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Pesquiera.  I  reckon  I'm  in 
your  debt  quite  a  bit.  Sorry  we  couldn't  agree 
aboutthis  little  matter  of  what  to  do  with  the  boys." 

Manuel  bowed  again  and  withdrew  from  the 
room. 

Inside  of  ten  minutes  Gordon  was  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

VALENCIA  ACCEPTS  A  RING 

Manuel  found  Valencia  pacing  up  and  down  the 
porch  of  the  hotel  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  In- 
stantly at  sight  of  him  she  ran  forward  quickly. 

"Where  have  you  been?  What  have  you  done 
with  Sebastian?  Why  did  you  leave  without  tell- 
ing me  about  it?"  she  demanded. 

"One  question  at  a  time,  my  cousin,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling  at  her.  "But  let  us  walk  while  I 
tell  you." 

She  fell  into  step  beside  him,  moving  with  the 
strong,  lissom  tread  that  came  from  controlled  and 
deliberate  power. 

"What  is  it  you  have  to  tell?  If  you  were  called 
away,  why  did  you  not  leave  a  message  for  me?" 
she  asked,  a  little  imperiously. 

"I  wasn't  called  away,  Valencia.  You  were  ex- 
cited and  angry.  My  opinion  was  that  Sebastian 
would  speak  if  the  matter  was  put  to  him  right.  So 
I  cut  the  rope  that  tied  him  and  we  ran  away 
through  the  back  door  of  the  hotel." 

240 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Her  dark  eyes,  proud  and  passionate,  began  to 
smoulder.  But  the  voice  with  which  she  answered 
him  was  silken  smooth. 

"I  see.  You  pretended  to  be  working  with  me — 
and  then  you  betrayed  me.  Is  that  it?" 

"If  you  like,"  he  said  with  a  little  shrug.  "I 
backed  my  judgment  against  your  impatience.  And 
it  turns  out  that  I  was  right." 

"How?  What  has  happened?  Where  is  Sebas- 
tian?" 

"He  is  galloping  toward  the  hills  as  fast  as  he 
can — at  least  I  hope  he  is.  What  happened  is  that 
he  told  me  where  Gordon  is  hidden." 

"Where?" 

"At  your  house.  When  you  were  there  to-day 
you  must  have  passed  within  twenty  feet  of  him." 

"But — do  you  mean  that  Pablo  and  Sebastian 
took  him  there  ?" 

"Exactly.  They  did  not  foresee  that  you  would 
come  to  town,  Valencia."  He  added,  after  a  mo- 
ment: "I  have  seen  Mr.  Gordon,  talked  with  him, 
and  released  him.  At  this  moment  he  is  in  your 
brother's  room,  probably  asleep." 

All  the  sharpness  had  died  out  of  the  young  wom- 
an's voice  when  she  turned  to  her  cousin  and  spoke 
with  a  humility  rare  to  her. 

"Forgive  me,  Manuel.    I  always  know  best  about 


242         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

everything.  I  drive  ahead  and  must  have  my  own 
way,  even  when  it  is  not  the  wise  one.  You  did 
just  right  to  ignore  me." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  coat  sleeve  pleadingly, 
and  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

"Nina  .  .  .  the  Queen  can  do  no  wrong.  But 
I  saw  you  were  driving  Sebastian  to  stubbornness. 
I  tried  to  let  him  see  we  meant  to  be  his  friends  if 
he  would  let  us." 

"Yes,  you  were  right.  Tell  me  everything, 
please."  She  paused  just  a  moment  before  she  said 
quietly:  "But  first,  what  about  Mr.  Gordon?  He 
is  ...  uninjured?" 

"Beaten  and  mauled  and  starved,  but  still  of  the 
gayest  courage,"  answered  the  Spaniard  with  en- 
thusiasm. "Did  I  not  say  that  he  was  a  hero  ?  My 
cousin,  I  say  it  again.  The  fear  of  death  is  not  in 
his  heart." 

He  did  not  see  the  gleam  in  her  dark  eyes,  the 
flush  that  beat  into  her  dusky  face.  "Starved  as 
well  as  beaten,  Manuel?" 

"They  were  trying  to  force  him  to  give  up  his 
claim  to  the  valley.  But  he — as  I  live  the  American 
is  hard  as  Gibraltar." 

"They  dared  to  starve  him — to  torture  him.  I 
shall  see  that  they  are  punished,"  she  cried  with  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        243 

touch  of  feminine  ferocity  that  is  the  heritage  of 
the  south. 

"No  need,  Valencia,"  returned  Pesquiera  with  a 
dry  little  laugh.  "Mr.  Gordon  has  promised  him- 
self to  attend  to  that." 

He  told  her  the  story  from  first  to  last.  Intently 
she  listened,  scarce  breathing  until  he  had  finished. 

Manuel  had  told  the  tale  with  scrupulous  fair- 
ness, but  already  her  sympathies  were  turning. 

"And  he  wouldn't  agree  not  to  prosecute?"  she 
asked. 

"No.  It  is  his  right  to  do  so  if  he  likes,  Valen- 
cia." 

She  brushed  this  aside  with  an  impatient  wave 
of  her  hand.  "Oh,  his  right!  Doesn't  he  owe 
something  to  us — to  me — and  especially  to  you?" 

"No,  he  owes  me  nothing.  What  I  did  was  done 
for  you,  and  not  for  him,"  the  Spaniard  replied  in- 
stantly. 

"Then  to  me  at  least  he  is  in  debt.  I  shall  ask 
him  to  drop  the  prosecution." 

"He  is  what  his  people  call  straight.  But  he  is 
hard — hard  as  jade." 

They  were  walking  along  a  dark  lane  unlighted 
save  by  the  stars.  Valencia  turned  to  him  impetu- 
ously. 

"Manuel,  you  are  good.     You  do  not  like  this 


244         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

man,  but  you  save  him  because — because  my  heart 
is  torn  when  my  people  do  wrong.  For  me  you 
take  much  trouble — you  risk  much.  How  can  I 
thank  you?" 

"Nina  mia,  I  am  thanked  if  you  are  pleased.  It 
is  your  love  I  seek,  Heart  of  mine."  He  spoke 
tremulously,  taking  her  hands  in  his. 

For  the  beat  of  a  heart  she  hesitated.  "You  have 
it.  Have  I  not  given  my  word  that — after  the 
American  was  saved ?" 

He  kissed  her.  Hers  was  a  virginal  soul,  but 
full-blooded.  An  unsuspected  passion  beat  in  her 
veins.  Not  for  nothing  did  she  have  the  deep,  lan- 
guorous eyes,  the  perfect  scarlet  lips,  the  sumptuous 
grace  of  an  artist's  ideal.  Fires  lay  banked  within 
her  in  spite  of  the  fine  purity  of  her  nature.  Na- 
ture had  poured  into  her  symmetrical  mold  a  rich 
abundance  of  what  we  call  sex. 

The  kisses  of  Manuel  stirred  within  her  new  and 
strange  emotions,  though  she  accepted  rather  than 
returned  them.  A  faint  vague  unease  chilled  her 
heart.  Was  it  because  she  had  been  immodest  in 
letting  him  so  far  have  his  way? 

When  they  returned  to  the  hotel  Manuel's  ring 
was  on  her  finger.  She  was  definitely  engaged  to 
him. 

It  was  long  before  she  slept.     She  thought  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Manuel,  the  man  chosen  it  seemed  by  Fate  to  be 
her  mate.  But  she  thought,  too,  of  the  lithe,  broad- 
shouldered  young  American  whose  eyes  could  be  so 
tender  and  again  so  hard.  Why  was  it  he  persisted 
in  filling  her  mind  so  much  of  the  time?  Why  did 
she  both  admire  him  and  resent  his  conduct,  trust 
him  to  the  limit  one  hour  and  distrust  the  next? 
Why  was  it  that  he — an  unassuming  American 
without  any  heroics — rather  than  her  affianced  lover 
seemed  to  radiate  romance  as  he  moved  ?  She  liked 
Manuel  very  much,  she  respected  him  greatly, 
trusted  him  wholly,  but — it  was  this  curly-headed 
youth  of  her  mother's  race  that  set  her  heart  beat- 
ing fast  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

She  resolved  resolutely  to  put  him  out  of  her 
mind.  Had  he  not  proved  himself  unworthy  by 
turning  the  head  of  Juanita,  whom  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly expect  to  marry?  Was  not  Manuel  in  every 
way  worthy  of  her  love?  Her  finger  touched  the 
diamond  ring  upon  her  hand.  She  would  keep  faith 
in  thought  as  well  as  in  word  and  deed. 

At  last  she  fell  asleep — and  dreamed  of  a  blond, 
gray-eyed  youth  fighting  for  his  life  against  a 
swarm  of  attacking  Mexicans. 


CHAPTER   XX 

DICK  LIGHTS  A   CIGARETTE 

Gordon  met  Miss  Valdes  in  the  El  Tovar  dining- 
room  next  morning.  He  was  trying  at  the  same 
time  to  tell  Davis  the  story  of  his  kidnaping  and  to 
eat  a  large  rare  steak  with  French- fried  potatoes. 
The  young  man  had  chosen  a  seat  that  faced  the 
door.  The  instant  his  eyes  fell  upon  her  he  gave 
up  both  the  story  and  the  steak.  Putting  aside  his 
napkin,  he  rose  to  meet  her. 

She  had  fallen  asleep  thinking  of  him,  her  dreams 
had  been  full  of  his  vivid  personality,  and  she  had 
wakened  to  an  eager  longing  for  the  sight  of  his 
gay,  mocking  eyes.  But  she  had  herself  under  such 
good  control  that  nobody  could  have  guessed  how 
fast  her  heart  was  beating  as  her  fingers  touched 
his. 

"We  are  glad  your  adventure  is  ended,  Mr.  Gor- 
don, and  that  it  has  turned  out  no  worse.  Proba- 
bly Mr.  Davis  has  told  you  that  he  and  I  got  our 
heads  together  a  great  many  times  a  day,"  she  said, 
a  little  formally. 

246 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        247 

"You  were  mighty  good  to  take  so  much  interest 
in  such  a  scalawag,"  he  answered  warmly. 

The  color  deepened  ever  so  little  in  her  face.  "I 
couldn't  let  my  men  commit  murder  under  the  im- 
pression they  were  doing  me  a  service,"  she  ex- 
plained lightly.  "There  are  several  things  I  want  to 
talk  over  with  you.  Can  you  call  on  me  this  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Gordon?" 

"Can  I?" 

He  put  the  question  so  forcefully  that  she  smiled 
and  dashed  a  bucket  of  cold  water  over  his  enthusi- 
asm. 

"If  you'll  be  so  good  then.  And  bring  Mr.  Davis 
along  with  you,  please.  He'll  keep  us  from  quarrel- 
ing too  much." 

"I'll  throw  him  out  of  the  window  if  he  don't 
behave  right,"  Davis  promised  joyfully.  He  was 
happy  to-day,  and  he  did  not  care  who  knew  it. 

Valencia  passed  on  to  her  table,  and  Dick  resumed 
his  seat.  He  had  a  strong  interest  in  this  young 
woman,  but  even  the  prospect  of  a  talk  with  her 
could  not  make  him  indifferent  to  the  rare  steak  and 
French-fried  potatoes  before  him.  He  was  a 
healthy  normal  American  in  his  late  twenties,  and 
after  several  days  of  starvation  well-cooked  food 
looked  very  good  to  him. 

"There's  some  mail  waiting  for  you  upstairs — 


248        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

one  of  the  letters  is  a  registered  one,  mailed  at  Cor- 
bett's,"  his  friend  told  him  as  they  rose  to  leave. 
He  was  like  a  hen  with  one  chick  in  his  eagerness 
to  supply  Dick's  wants  and  in  his  reluctance  to  let 
Gordon  out  of  his  sight. 

The  registered  letter  was  the  one  Valencia  had 
sent  him,  inclosing  the  one  written  by  her  grand- 
iather  to  her  father.  Her  contrite  little  note  went 
straight  to  his  emotions.  If  not  in  words,  at  least 
in  spirit,  it  pleaded  for  pardon.  Even  the  telegram 
she  had  wired  implied  an  undeniable  interest  in  him. 
Dick  went  with  a  light  heart  to  the  interview  she 
had  appointed  him. 

He  slipped  an  arm  through  that  of  Davis.  "Come 
on,  you  old  bald-headed  chaperone.  Didn't  you  hear 
the  lady  give  you  a  bid  to  her  party  this  mo'ning? 
Get  a  move  on  you." 

"Ain't  you  going  to  let  her  invite  get  cold  before 
you  butt  in?"  retorted  Steve  amiably. 

Valencia  took  away  from  the  dining-room  a  heart 
at  war  with  itself.  The  sight  of  his  gaunt  face, 
carrying  the  scars  of  many  wounds  and  the  lines 
marked  by  hunger,  stirred  insurgent  impulses.  The 
throb  of  passion  and  of  the  sweet  protective  love 
that  is  at  the  bottom  of  every  woman's  tenderness 
suffused  her  cheeks  with  warm  life  and  made  her 
eyes  wonderful.  Out  of  the  grave  he  had  come 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        249 

back  to  her,  this  indomitable  foe  who  played  the 
game  with  such  gay  courage.  It  was  useless  to 
tell  herself  that  she  was  plighted  to  a  better  man, 
a  worthier  one.  Scamp  he  might  be,  but  Dick  Gor- 
don held  her  heart  in  the  hollow  of  his  strong  brown 
hand. 

Some  impulse  of  shyness,  perhaps  of  reluctance, 
had  restrained  her  from  wearing  Manuel's  ring  at 
breakfast.  But  when  she  returned  to  her  room  she 
went  straight  to  the  desk  where  she  had  locked  it 
and  put  the  solitaire  on  her  finger.  The  fear  of  dis- 
loyalty drove  her  back  to  her  betrothed  from  the  en- 
ticement of  forbidden  thoughts.  She  must  put 
Richard  Gordon  out  of  her  mind.  It  was  worse 
than  madness  to  be  dreaming  of  him  now  that  she 
was  plighted  to  another. 

Gordon,  coming  eagerly  to  meet  her,  found  a 
young  woman  more  reserved,  more  distant.  He 
was  conscious  of  this  even  before  his  eyes  stopped 
at  the  engagement  ring  sparkling  on  her  finger,  the 
visible  evidence  that  his  rival  had  won. 

"You  have  been  treated  cruelly,  Mr.  Gordon. 
Tell  me  that  you  are  again  all  right,"  she  said,  the 
color  flooding  her  face  at  the  searching  question  of 
his  eyes. 

"Right  as  a  rivet,  thanks.  It  is  to  you  I  owe  my 
freedom,  i  suppose." 


850        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"To  Manuel,"  she  corrected.  "His  judgment 
was  better  than  mine." 

"I  can  believe  that.  He  didn't  ride  all  night 
across  dangerous  mountain  roads  to  save  me." 

"Oh,  that!"  She  tossed  off  his  thanks  with  a 
little  shrug.  "They  are  so  impulsive,  my  boys  .  .  . 
like  children,  you  know.  ...  I  was  a  little  afraid 
they  might " 

"I  was  a  little  afraid  myself  they  might,"  he 
agreed  dryly.  "But  when  you  say  children — well, 
don't  you  think  wolves  is  a  more  accurate  term  for 
them?" 

"Oh,  no — no!"  Her  protest  was  quick,  eager, 
imperative.  "You  don't  know  how  loyal  they  can 
be — how  faithful.  They  are  really  just  like  chil- 
dren, so  impulsive — so  unreasoning." 

"Afraid  I  can't  enthuse  with  you  on  that  subject 
for  a  day  or  two  yet,"  he  answered  with  a  laugh. 
"Truth  is  I  found  their  childlike  impulses  both  pain- 
ful and  annoying.  Next  time  you  see  them  you 
might  mention  that  I'm  liable  to  have  an  impulse  of 
my  own  they  won't  enjoy." 

"That's  one  of  the  things  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
about.  Manuel  says  you  mean  to  prosecute.  I  hope 
you  won't.  They're  friends  of  mine.  They  thought 
they  were  helping  me.  Of  course  I  have  no  claim 
on  you,  but '' 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        251 

"You  have  a  claim,  Miss  Valdes.  We'll  take  that 
up  presently.  Just  now  we're  talking  about  a  couple 
of  criminals,  due  for  a  term  in  the  penitentiary.  I 
offered  them  terms.  They  wouldn't  accept.  Good 
enough.  They'll  have  to  stand  the  gaff,  I  reckon." 

She  realized  at  once  there  was  no  use  arguing 
with  him.  The  steel  in  his  eyes  told  her  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  and  was  not  to  be  moved.  But 
she  could  not  desert  her  foolish  dependents. 

"I  know.  What  you  say  is  quite  true,  but — I'll 
have  to  come  to  some  agreement  with  you.  I  can't 
let  them  be  punished  for  their  loyalty  to  me." 

Her  direct,  unflinching  look,  its  fearlessness,  won 
his  admiration.  In  her  slim  suppleness,  vibrant, 
feminine  to  the  finger  tips,  alluring  with  the  uncon- 
scious appeal  of  sex,  there  was  a  fine  courage  to 
face  frankly  essential  facts.  But  he  was  a  hard 
man  to  move  once  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  For 
all  his  frivolous  impudence  and  his  boyish  good  na- 
ture, he  knew  his  own  mind,  and  held  to  it  with  the 
stiffness  characteristic  of  outdoor  Westerners. 

"You're  not  in  this,  Miss  Valdes.  I'll  settle  my 
own  accounts  with  your  friends  Sebastian  and 
Pablo." 

"But  even  for  your  own  sake "  She  stopped, 

intuitively  aware  that  this  was  not  the  ground  upon 
which  to  treat  with  him.  He  would  never  drop  the 


252         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

charges  against  the  Mexicans  merely  because  there 
was  danger  in  pressing  them. 

"I  reckon  I'll  have  to  try  to  look  out  for  myself. 
Maybe  next  time  I  won't  be  so  easy  a  mark,"  he  an- 
swered with  an  almost  insolent  laugh. 

Valencia  was  a  little  puzzled.  Things  were  not 
going  right,  and  she  did  not  quite  know  the  reason. 
There  was  just  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  voice, 
of  aloofness  in  his  manner.  She  did  not  know  that 
the  sight  of  the  solitaire  sparkling  on  her  left  hand 
stirred  in  him  the  impulse  to  hurt  her,  to  refuse 
rather  than  concede  her  requests. 

"You're  not  going  to  push  the  cases  against  Pablo 
and  Sebastian  and  still  try  to  live  in  the  valley,  are 
you?"  she  asked,  beginning  to  feel  a  little  irritation 
at  him. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

"You  mustn't.  I  won't  have  it.  Don't  you  see 
what  my  people  will  think,  that  because  Pablo  and 
Sebastian  were  loyal  to  me " 

His  acrid  smile  cut  her  sentence  in  two.  "That's 
about  the  third  time  you've  mentioned  their  loyalty. 
Me,  I  don't  see  it.  Sebastian  owns  land  under  the 
Valdes  grant.  He  didn't  want  me  to  take  it  from 
him.  Mr.  Pablo  Menendez — well,  he  had  private 
reasons  of  his  own,  too." 

The  resentment  flamed  in  her  heart.     If  he  was 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        253 

shameless  enough  to  refer  to  the  affair  with  Juanita 
she  would  let  him  know  that  she  knew. 

"What  were  his  reasons,  Mr.  Gordon — that  is,  if 
they  are  not  a  private  affair  between  you  and  him?" 

"Not  at  all."  The  steel-blue  eyes  met  hers,  stead- 
ily. Dick  was  yielding  to  a  desire  to  hurt  himself 
as  well  as  her,  to  defy  her  judgment  if  she  had  no 
better  sense  than  to  condemn  him.  "The  idiot  is 
jealous." 

"Jealous — why?"  The  angry  color  beat  its  way 
to  the  surface  above  her  cheek  bones.  Her  disdain 
was  regal. 

"About  Juanita." 

"What  about  Juanita?" 

"The  usual  thing,  Miss  Valdes.  He  was  afraid 
she  had  the  bad  taste  to  prefer  another  man  to  him- 
self." 

Davis  broke  in.  "Now,  don't  you  be  a  goat,  Dick. 
Miss  Valdes,  he " 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  Davis.  I'm  quite  sure  Mr. 
Gordon  is  able  to  defend  himself,"  she  replied  scorn- 
fully. 

"Didn't  know  I  was  defending  myself.  What's 
the  charge  against  me  ?"  asked  the  young  miner  with 
a  touch  of  quiet  insolence. 

"There  isn't  any — if  you  don't  see  what  it  is.  And 
you're  quite  right,  Mr.  Gordon.  Your  difficulties 


254        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

with  Pablo  are  none  of  my  business.  You'll  have 
to  settle  them  yourselves — with  Juanita's  help.  May 
I  ask  whether  you  received  the  registered  letter  I 
sent  you,  Mr.  Gordon?** 

Dick  was  angry.  Her  cool  contempt  told  him 
that  he  had  been  condemned.  He  knew  that  he  was 
acting  like  an  irresponsible  schoolboy,  but  he  would 
not  justify  himself.  She  might  think  what  she 
liked. 

"Found  it  waiting  for  me  this  morning,  Miss 
Valdes." 

"It  was  very  fair  and  generous  of  you  to  send  me 
the  letter.  I  recognize  that  fully.  But  of  course  I 
can't  accept  such  a  sacrifice,"  she  told  him  stiffly. 

"Not  necessary  you  should.  Object  if  I  smoke 
here?" 

Valencia  was  a  little  surprised.  He  had  never 
before  offered  to  smoke  in  the  house  except  at  her 
suggestion.  "As  you  please,  Mr.  Gordon.  Why 
should  I  object?" 

From  his  coat  pocket  Dick  took  the  letter  Don 
Bartolome  had  written  to  his  son,  and  from  his  vest 
pocket  a  match.  He  twisted  the  envelope  into  a 
spill,  lit  one  end,  and  found  a  cigarette.  Very  de- 
liberately he  puffed  the  cigarette  to  a  glow,  holding 
the  letter  in  his  fingers  until  it  had  burned  to  a  black 


Holding  the  letter  in  his  fingers  until  it  had 
burned  to  a  black  flake 


Page  254 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        255 

flake.  This  he  dropped  in  the  fireplace,  and  along 
with  it  the  unsmoked  cigarette. 

"Easiest  way  to  settle  that  little  matter,"  he  said 
negligently. 

"I  judge  you're  a  little  impulsive,  too,  sometimes, 
Mr.  Gordon,"  Valencia  replied  coldly. 

"I  never  rode  all  night  over  the  mountains  to  save 
a  man  who  was  trying  to  rob  me  of  my  land,"  he 
retorted. 

This  brought  a  sparkle  to  her  eyes.  "I  had  to 
think  of  my  foolish  men  who  were  getting  into 
trouble." 

"Was  that  why  you  offered  a  hundred  dollars' 
reward  for  the  arrest  of  these  same  men?"  came 
his  indolent,  satiric  reply. 

"Don  Manuel  offered  the  reward,"  she  told  him 
haughtily. 

An  impish  smile  was  in  his  eyes.  "At  your  sug- 
gestion, he  tells  me.  And  I  understand  you  in- 
sisted on  paying  the  bill,  Miss  Valdes." 

"Why  should  he  pay  it?  The  men  worked  for 
me.  They  were  brought  up  on  my  father's  place. 
They  are  my  responsibility,  not  his,"  she  claimed 
with  visible  irritation. 

"And  now  they're  my  responsibility,  too — until  I 
land  them  in  the  penitentiary,"  he  added  cheerfully. 

From  his  pocket  he  took  a  billbook  and  selected 


256        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

two  fifty-dollar  bills.    These  he  offered  to  Valencia. 

She  stood  very  straight.  "You  owe  me  nothing, 
sir." 

"I  owe  you  the  hundred  dollars  you  paid  to  get 
hold  of  Sebastian.  And  I'm  going  to  pay  it." 

"I  don't  acknowledge  the  debt.  I  wanted  Sebas- 
tian for  his  sake,  not  yours.  Certainly  I  shall  not 
accept  the  money." 

"Just  as  you  say.  It  isn't  mine.  Care  if  I  smoke 
again?"  he  asked  genially. 

She  caught  his  meaning  in  a  flash.  "Not  at  all. 
Burn  them  if  you  like." 

"Now,  see  here,"  interrupted  Davis  amiably. 
"You're  both  acting  like  a  pair  of  kids.  I'm  not 
going  to  stand  for  any  hundred-dollar  smokes,  Dick. 
Gimme  those  bills."  He  snatched  them  from  his 
friend  and  put  them  in  his  pocket.  "When  you 
two  get  reasonable  again  we'll  decide  whose  money 
it  is.  Till  then  I  expect  I'll  draw  the  interest  on 
it." 

"And  now,  since  our  business  is  ended,  I  think 
I'll  not  detain  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Gordon,  except 
to  warn  you  that  it  will  be  foolhardy  to  return  to 
the  Rio  Chama  Valley  with  intentions  such  as  you 
have." 

"Good  of  you  to  warn  me,  Miss  Valdes.  It's  not 
the  first  time,  either,  is  it?  But  I'm  that  bull- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        257 

headed.  Steve  will  give  me  a  recommend  as  the 
most  sot  chump  in  New  Mexico.  Won't  you, 
Steve?" 

"I  sure  will — before  a  notary  if  you  like.  You've 
got  a  government  mule  backed  off  the  map." 

"I've  done  my  duty,  anyhow."  Miss  Valdes 
turned  to  the  older  man,  and  somehow  the  way 
she  did  it  seemed  to  wipe  Gordon  out  of  the  pic- 
ture. "There  is  something  I  want  to  talk  over  with 
you,  Mr.  Davis.  Can  you  wait  a  few  moments  ?" 

"Sure  I  can — all  day  if  you  like." 

Dick  retired  with  his  best  bow.  "Steve,  you  al- 
ways was  popular  with  the  ladies." 

Valencia,  uncompromising,  waited  until  he  had 
gone.  Then,  swiftly,  with  a  little  leap  of  impulse 
as  it  were,  she  appealed  to  Davis. 

"Don't  let  him  go  back  to  the  valley.  Don't  let 
him  push  the  cases  against  Sebastian  and  Pablo." 

The  old  miner  shook  his  head.  "Sorry,  Miss 
Valencia.  Wish  I  could  stop  him,  but  I  can't.  He'll 
go  his  own  way — always  would." 

"But  don't  you  see  they'll  kill  him.  It's  madness 
to  go  back  there  while  he's  pushing  the  criminal 

case.  Before  it  was  bad  enough,  but  now " 

She  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"I  reckon  you're  right.    But  I  can't  help  it." 

"Then  look  out  for  him.     Don't  let  him  ride 


258        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

around  in  the  hills.  Don't  let  him  leave  the  house 
at  night.  Never  let  him  go  alone.  Remember  that 
he  is  in  danger  every  hour  while  he  remains  in  the 
valley." 

"I'll  remember,  Miss  Valencia,"  Davis  prom- 
ised. 

He  wondered  as  he  walked  away  why  the  talk 
between  Dick  and  Miss  Valdes  had  gone  so  badly. 
He  knew  his  friend  had  come  jubilantly,  prepared 
to  do  anything  she  asked  of  him.  The  fear  and 
anxiety  that  had  leaped  to  her  face  the  instant  Gor- 
don had  gone  showed  him  that  the  girl  had  a  deep 
interest  in  the  young  man.  She,  too,  had  meant  to 
meet  him  half  way  in  wiping  out  the  gulf  between 
them.  Instead,  they  had  only  increased  it. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

WHEN  THE  WIRES  WERE  CUT 

Don  Manuel  rode  into  the  moonlit  plaza  of  the 
Valdes  ranch,  dismounted,  and  flung  the  reins  to 
the  boy  that  came  running.  Pesquiera  nodded  a 
careless  greeting  and  passed  into  the  house.  He  did 
not  ask  of  anyone  where  Valencia  was,  nor  did  he 
send  in  a  card  of  announcement.  A  lover's  instinct 
told  him  that  he  would  find  her  in  the  room  that 
served  both  as  an  office  and  a  library  for  her,  seated 
perhaps  before  the  leaping  fireglow  she  loved  or 
playing  softly  on  the  piano  in  the  darkness. 

The  door  was  open,  and  he  stood  a  moment  on 
the  threshold  to  get  accustomed  to  the  dim  light. 

A  rich,  low-pitched  voice  came  across  the  room 
to  him. 

"It  is  you,  Manuel?" 

He  stepped  swiftly  forward  to  the  lounge  upon 
which  she  was  lying  and  knelt  on  one  knee  beside 
her,  lifting  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "It  is  I,  corazon 
mia,  even  Manuel  the  lucky. 

She  both  smiled  and  sighed  at  that  A  chord  in 
259 


260        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

her  responded  to  the  extravagance  of  his  speech, 
even  though  vaguely  it  did  not  quite  satisfy.  A 
woman  of  the  warm-blooded  south  and  no  plaster 
saint,  she  answered  presently  with  shy,  reluctant 
lips  the  kisses  of  her  lover.  Why  should  she  not? 
Had  he  not  won  her  by  meeting  the  test  she  had 
given  him?  Was  he  not  a  gallant  gentleman,  of 
her  own  race  and  caste,  bound  to  her  by  ties  of 
many  sorts,  in  every  way  worthy  to  be  the  father 
of  her  children?  If  she  had  to  stifle  some  faint, 
indefinable  regret,  was  it  not  right  that  she  should  ? 
Her  bridges  were  burned  behind  her.  He  was  the 
man  of  her  choice.  She  listened,  eyes  a  little  wist- 
ful, while  he  poured  out  ardently  the  tale  of  his 
devotion. 

"You  do  love  me,  don't  you,  Manuel?"  she  de- 
manded, a  little  fiercely.  It  was  as  if  she  wanted  to 
drown  any  doubts  she  might  have  of  her  own  feel- 
ing in  the  certainty  of  his. 

"More  than  life  itself,  I  do  believe/'  he  cried  in 
a  low  voice. 

Her  lithe  body  turned,  so  that  her  shining  eyes 
were  close  to  his. 

"Dear  Manuel,  I  am  glad.  You  don't  know  how 
worried  I've  been  .  .  .  still  am.  Perhaps  if  I  were 
a  man  it  would  be  different,  but  I  don't  want  my 
people  to  take  the  life  of  this  stranger.  But  they 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        261 

mean  him  harm — especially  since  he  has  come  back 
and  intends  to  punish  Pablo  and  Sebastian.  I  want 
them  to  let  the  law  take  its  course.  Something  tells 
me  that  we  shall  win  in  the  end.  I've  talked  to 
them — and  talked — but  they  say  nothing  except  'Si, 
doiia.'  But  with  you  to  help  me " 

"They'd  better  not  touch  him  again,"  broke  in  her 
lover  swiftly. 

"It's  a  great  comfort  to  me,  Manuel,  that  you 
have  blotted  out  your  own  quarrel  with  him.  It 
was  magnanimous,  what  I  should  expect  of  you." 

He  said  nothing,  but  the  hand  that  lay  on  hers 
seemed  suddenly  to  stiffen.  A  kind  of  fear  ran 
shivering  through  her.  Quickly  she  rose  from  the 
couch. 

"Manuel,  tell  me  that  I  am  right,  that  you  don't 
mean  to  ...  hurt  him?"  Her  dark  eyes  searched 
his  unflinchingly.  "You  don't  mean  .  .  .  you  can't 
mean  .  .  .  that ?" 

"Let  us  forget  the  American  and  remember  only 
that  we  love,  my  beloved,"  he  pleaded. 

"No  .  .  .  No!"  The  voice  of  the  girl  was  sharp 
and  imperative.  "I  want  the  truth.  Is  it  that  you 
are  still  thinking  of  murdering  him,  Manuel?" 

The  sting  of  her  words  brought  a  flush  to  his 
cheeks.  "I  fight  fair,  Valencia.  I  set  against  his 
life  my  own,  with  all  the  happiness  that  has  come 


362        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

flooding  it.  Nor  is  it  that  I  seek  the  man's  life. 
For  me  he  might  live  a  thousand  years — and  wel- 
come. But  my  honor " 

"No,  Manuel.  No — no — no !  I  will  not  have  it. 
If  you  are  betrothed  to  me  your  life  is  mine.  You 
shall  not  risk  it  in  a  barbarous  duel." 

"Let  us  change  the  subject,  dear  heart." 

"Not  till  I  hear  you  say  that  you  have  given  up 
this  wicked  intention  of  yours." 

He  gave  up  the  attempt  to  evade  her  and  met  her 
fairly  as  one  man  does  another. 

"I  can't  say  that,  Valencia,  not  even  for  you. 
This  quarrel  lies  between  him  and  me.  I  have  suf- 
fered humiliation  and  disgrace.  Until  those  are 
wiped  out  there  must  be  war  between  me  and  the 
American." 

"Since  the  day  I  first  wore  your  ring,  Manuel,  I 
have  asked  nothing  of  you.  I  ask  now  that  you  will 
forget  the  slight  this  man  has  put  upon  you  .  .  . 
because  I  ask  it  of  you  with  all  my  heart." 

A  slight  tremor  ran  through  his  blood.  He  felt 
himself  slipping  from  his  place  with  her. 

"I  can't,  Valencia.  You  don't  know  what  you 
ask,  how  impossible  it  is  for  me — a  Pesquiera,  son 
of  my  honored  fathers — to  grant  such  a  request." 
He  stretched  his  hands  toward  her  imploringly. 

"Yet  you  say  you  love  me?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        263 

"Heaven  knows  whether  it  is  not  true,  my 
cousin." 

"You  want  me  to  believe  that,  even  though  you 
refuse  the  first  real  request  I  ever  made  of  you?" 

"Anything  else  in  the  world  that  is  in  my  power." 

"It  is  easy  to  say  that,  Manuel,  when  it  isn't  some- 
thing else  I  want.  Give  me  this  American's  life.  I 
shall  know,  then,  that  you  love  me." 

"You  know  now,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"Is  love  all  sighs  and  vows?"  she  cried  impa- 
tiently. "Will  it  not  sacrifice  pride  and  vanity  for 
the  object  of  its  devotion?" 

"Everything  but  honor,"  answered  the  man  stead- 
fastly. 

She  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"What  is  this  honor  you  talk  so  much  about  ?  It 
is  neither  Christian  nor  lawful  nor  right." 

"It  is  a  part  of  me,  Valencia." 

"Then  your  ideas  are  archaic.  The  duel  was  for 
a  time  when  every  man  had  to  seek  his  personal 
redress.  There  is  law  in  this  twentieth  century." 

"Not  as  between  man  and  man  in  the  case  of  a 
personal  indignity — at  least,  not  for  Manuel  Pes- 
quiera." 

"But  it  is  so  needless.  We  know  you  are  brave ; 
he  knows  it,  too.  Surely  your  vanity " 

He  smiled  a  little  sadly. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"I  think  it  is  not  vanity,  but  something  deeper. 
None  of  my  ancestors  could  have  tolerated  this 
stigma,  nor  can  their  son.  My  will  has  nothing  to 
do  with  it,  and  my  desire  still  less.  It  is  kismet." 

"Then  you  must  know  the  truth — that  if  you  kill 
this  man  I  can  never " 

"Never  what?" 

"Never  marry  you." 

"Why?" 

"His  blood  would  stand  between  us." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you — love  him?" 

Her  dark  eyes  met  his  steadily. 

"I  don't  think  I  mean  that,  Manuel.  How  could 
I  mean  that,  since  I  love  you  and  am  betrothed  to 
you?  Sometimes  I  hate  him.  He  is  so  insolent  in 
I  his  daring.  Then,  too,  he  is  my  enemy,  and  he  has 
come  here  to  set  this  happy  valley  to  hate  and  evil. 
Yet,  if  I  should  hurt  him,  it  would  stand  between 
us  forever." 

"I  am  sorry." 

"Only  sorry,  Manuel?" 

He  clamped  his  teeth  on  the  torrent  of  protest  that 
rose  within  him  when  she  handed  him  back  his  ring. 
It  would  do  no  good  to  speak  more.  The  immuta- 
ble fact  stood  between  them. 

"I  did  not  know  life  could  be  so  hard — and 
cruel,"  she  cried  out  in  a  burst  of  passion. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        265 

She  went  to  the  open  window  and  looked  out 
upon  the  placid,  peaceful  valley.  She  had  a  swift, 
supple  way  of  moving,  as  if  her  muscles  responded 
with  effortless  ease  to  her  volition;  but  the  young 
man  noticed  that  to-night  there  was  a  drag  to  her 
motions. 

His  heart  yearned  toward  her.  He  longed  might- 
ily to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  tell  her  that  he  would 
do  as  she  wished.  But,  as  he  had  said,  something 
in  him  more  potent  than  vanity,  than  pride,  than  his 
will,  held  him  to  the  course  he  had  set  for  himself. 
His  views  of  honor  might  be  archaic  and  ridiculous, 
but  he  lived  by  his  code  as  tenaciously  as  had  his 
fathers.  Gordon  had  insulted  and  humiliated,  him 
publicly.  He  must  apologize  or  give  him  satisfac- 
tion. Until  he  had  done  one  or  the  other  Manuel 
could  riot  live  at  peace  with  himself.  He  had  put  a 
powerful  curb  upon  his  desire  to  wait  as  long  as  he 
had.  Circumstances  had  for  a  time  taken  the  matter 
out  of  his  hands,  but  the  time  had  come  when  he 
meant  to  press  his  claims.  The  American  might  re- 
fuse the  duel ;  he  could  not  refrain  from  defending 
himself  when  Pesquiera  attacked. 

A  step  sounded  in  the  doorway,  and  almost  simul- 
taneously a  voice. 

"Dona,,  are  you  here?" 

The  room  was  lighted  only  by  the  flickering  fire ; 


266        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

but  Valencia,  her  eyes  accustomed  to  the  darkness, 
recognized  the  boy  as  Juan  Gardiez. 

"Yes,  I  am  here,  Juan.  What  have  you  to  tell 
me  ?"  she  said  quickly. 

"I  do  not  know,  senorita.  But  the  men — Pablo, 
Sebastian;  all  of  them — are  gone." 

"Gone  where  ?"  she  breathed. 

"I  do  not  know.  To-day  I  drove  a  cow  and  calf 
to  Willow  Springs.  I  am  but  returned.  The  houses 
are  empty.  Senor  Barela's  wife  says  she  saw  men 
riding  up  the  hill  toward  Corbett's — eight,  nine,  ten 
of  them." 

"To  Corbett's  ?"  She  stared  whitely  at  him  with- 
out moving.  "How  long  ago?" 

"An  hour  ago — or  more." 

"Saddle  Billy  at  once  and  bring  him  round,"  the 
girl  ordered  crisply. 

She  turned  as  she  spoke  and  went  lightly  to  the 
telephone.  With  the  need  of  action,  of  decision, 
her  hopelessness  was  gone.  There  was  a  hard, 
bright  light  in  her  eyes  that  told  of  a  resolution  in- 
flexible as  tempered  steel  when  once  aroused. 

"Give  me  Corbett's — at  once,  please.  Hallo,  Cen- 
tral—Corbett's " 

No  answer  came,  though  she  called  again  and 
again. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        267 

"There  must  be  something  wrong  with  the  tele- 
phone," suggested  Don  Manuel. 

She  dropped  the  receiver  and  turned  quietly  to 
him. 

"The  wires  have  been  cut." 

"But,  why?    What  is  it  all  about?" 

"Merely  that  my  men  are  anticipating  you.  They 
have  gone  to  murder  the  American.  Deputy  sheriffs 
from  Santa  Fe  to-day  came  here  to  arrest  Pablo  and 
Sebastian.  The  men  suspected  and  were  hidden. 
Now  they  have  gone  to  punish  Mr.  Gordon  for 
sending  the  officers." 

She  could  not  have  touched  him  more  nearly.  He 
came  to  her  with  burning  eyes. 

"How  do  you  know?  What  makes  you  think 
so?" 

She  told  him,  briefly  and  simply,  giving  more  de- 
tailed jyasons. 

Without  a  word,  he  turned  and  left  her.  She 
could  hear  him  rushing  through  the  hall,  traced  his 
progress  by  the  slamming  of  the  door,  and  presently 
caught  sight  of  him  running  toward  the  corral.  He 
did  not  hear,  or  heed,  her  call  for  him  to  wait. 

The  girl  hurried  out  of  the  house  after  him,  in 
time  to  see  him  slap  a  saddle  on  his  bronco,  swing 
to  his  seat  lightly,  and  gallop  in  a  cloud  of  dust  to 
the  road. 


268        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Valencia  waited  for  no  more.  Quickly  running 
to  her  room,  she  slipped  on  a  khaki  riding-skirt. 
Her  deft,  tapering  fingers  moved  swiftly,  so  that 
she  was  ready,  crop  in  hand,  booted  and  spurred,  by 
the  time  Juan  brought  round  her  horse. 

It  took  but  an  instant  to  lift  herself  to  the  saddle 
and  send  Billy  galloping  forward. 

Already  her  cousin  had  disappeared  in  great 
clouds  of  dust  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   ATTACK 

Dick  Gordon  and  Davis  were  sitting  on  the  porch 
of  their  cabin,  which  was  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
from  the  main  buildings  of  the  Corbett  place.  They 
had  returned  the  day  before  from  Santa  Fe,  along 
with  two  deputy  sheriffs  who  had  come  to  arrest 
Pablo  and  Sebastian.  The  officers  had  scoured  the 
valley  for  two  days,  and  as  yet  had  not  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  men  they  had  come  to  get.  Their 
inquiries  were  all  met  by  a  dogged  ignorance  on  the 
part  of  the  Mexicans,  who  had  of  a  sudden  turned 
surprisingly  stupid.  No,  they  had  seen  nothing  of 
Pablo  or  of  Sebastian.  They  knew  nobody  of  that 
name — unless  it  was  old  Pablo  Gardiez  the  senors 
wished  to  see.  Many  strangers  desired  to  see  him, 
for  he  was  more  than  a  hundred  years  old  and  still 
remembered  clearly  the  old  days. 

Gordon  laughed  at  the  discomfiture  of  his  sleuths. 
"I  dare  say  they  may  have  been  talking  to  the  very 
men  they  wanted.  But  everybody  hangs  together 
in  this  valley.  I'm  going  out  with  them  myself  to- 
morrow after  the  gentlemen  the  law  requires." 
269 


270        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"No,  I  wouldn't  do  that,  Dick.  With  every 
greaser  in  the  valley  simmering  against  you,  it  won't 
do  for  you  to  go  trapsing  right  down  among  them," 
Davis  explained. 

"That's  where  I'm  going,  anyhow — to-morrow 
morning.  The  deputies  are  staying  up  at  Morrow's. 
I'm  going  to  phone  'em  to-night  that  I'll  ride  with 
them  to-morrow.  Bet  you  a  new  hat  we  flush  our 
birds." 

"What's  the  sense  of  you  going  into  the  police 
business,  Dick?  I'll  tell  you  what's  ailing  you. 
You're  just  honing  to  see  Miss  Valdes  again.  You 
want  to  go  grand-standing  around  making  her  mad 
at  you  some  more." 

"You're  a  wiz,  Steve,"  admitted  his  friend  dryly. 
Maybe  you're  right.  Maybe  I  do  want  to  see  her 
again.  Why  shouldn't  I  ?" 

"What  good  does  it  do  you  when  you  quarrel  all 
the  time  you're  together?  She's  declared  herself 
already  on  this  proposition — told  the  deputies  flat- 
footed  that  she  wouldn't  tell  them  anything  and 
would  help  her  boys  to  escape  in  any  way  she  could. 
You're  just  like  a  kid  showing  off  his  muscle  before 
a  little  girl  in  the  first  grade." 

"All  right,  Steve.  You  don't  hear  me  denying 
it." 

"Denying  it,"  snapped  the  old  miner.     "Hmp! 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        271 

Lot  of  good  that  would  do.  You're  fair  itching  to 
get  a  chance  to  go  down  to  the  ranch  and  swagger 
around  in  plain  sight  of  her  lads.  You'd  be  tickled 
to  death  if  you  could  cut  out  the  two  you  want  and 
land  them  here  in  spite  of  her  and  Don  Manuel  and 
the  whole  pack  of  them.  Don't  I  know  you  ?  Noth- 
ing but  vanity — that's  all  there's  to  it." 

"He's  off,"  murmured  Dick  with  a  grin  to  the 
scenery. 

"You  make  me  tired.  Why  don't  you  try  a  little 
horse  sense  for  a  change?  Honest,  if  you  was  a 
few  years  younger  I'd  put  you  acrost  my  knee  and 
spank  you." 

Gordon  lit  a  cigarette,  but  did  not  otherwise  con- 
tribute to  the  conversation. 

"Ain't  she  wearing  another  man's  ring?"  contin- 
ued Davis  severely.  "What's  bitin'  you,  anyhow? 
How  many  happy  families  you  want  to  break  up? 
First  off,  there's  Pablo  and  Juanita.  You  fill  up  her 
little  noodle  with  the  notion  that " 

Dick  interrupted  amiably.  "Go  to  grass,  you  old 
granny.  I've  been  putting  in  my  spare  time  since  I 
came  back  letting  Juanita  understand  the  facts.  If 
she  had  any  wrong  notions  she  ain't  got  them  any 
longer.  She's  all  ready  to  kiss  and  make  up  with 
Pablo  first  chance  she  gets." 

"Then  there's  Miss  Valdes  and  this  Pesky  fel- 


272        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

low,  who's  the  whitest  brown  man  I  ever  did  see. 
Didn't  he  run  his  fool  laigs  off  getting  you  free  so 
you  could  go  back  and  make  love  to  his  girl  ?" 

"He's  the  salt  of  the  earth.  I'm  for  Don  Manuel 
strong.  But  I  don't  reckon  Miss  Valdes  would 
work  well  in  harness  with  him,"  explained  Dick. 

Steve  Davis  snorted.  "No,  you  reckon  Dick  Gor- 
don would,  though.  Don't  you  see  she's  of  his  peo- 
ple— same  customs,  same  ways,  same " 

"She's  no  more  of  his  people  than  she  is  of  mine. 
Her  mother  was  an  American  girl.  She  was  edu- 
cated in  Washington.  New  Mexico  is  in  America, 
not  in  Spain.  Don't  forget  that,  you  old  croaker." 

"Well,  she's  engaged,  ain't  she?  And  to  a  good 
man.  It  ain't  your  put  in." 

"A  good  one,  but  the  wrong  one.  It's  a  woman's 
privilege  to  change  her  mind.  I'm  here  to  help  her 
change  it,"  announced  the  young  man  calmly.  "Say, 
look  at  Jimmie  Corbett  hitting  the  high  spots  this 
way." 

Jimmie,  not  yet  recovered  from  a  severe  fright, 
stopped  to  explain  the  adventure  that  had  befallen 
him  while  he  had  been  night  fishing. 

"I  seen  spooks,  Mr.  Gordon — hundreds  of  'em — 
coming  down  the  river  bank  on  horseback — honest 
to  goodness,  I  did." 

"Jimmie,  if  I  had  your  imagination " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        273 

But  Davis  cut  into  Dick's  smiling  incredulity: 

"Did  you  say  on  horseback,  Jimmie?" 

"Yes,  sir,  on  horseback.  Hope  to  die  if  they 
weren't — 'bout  fifty  of  them." 

"You  better  run  along  home  before  they  catch 
you,  Jimmie,"  advised  the  old  miner  gravely. 

The  boy  went  like  a  streak  of  light.  Davis  turned 
quietly  to  his  partner. 

"I  reckon  it's  come,  Dick." 

"You  believe  the  boy  did  see  some  men  on  horse- 
back? It  might  have  been  only  shadows." 

"No,  sir.  His  imagination  wouldn't  have  put 
spooks  on  horseback.  We  got  no  time  to  argue. 
You  going  to  hold  the  fort  here  or  take  to  the 
hills?" 

"You  think  they  mean  to  attack  us  in  the  open  ?" 

"They're  hoping  to  surprise  us,  I  reckon.  That's 
why  they're  coming  along  the  creek  instead  of  the 
road.  Hadn't  'a'  been  for  Jimmie,  they  would  have 
picked  us  off  from  the  porch  before  we  could  say 
'Jack  Robinson.'  " 

Both  men  had  at  once  stepped  within  the  log 
cabin,  and,  as  they  talked,  were  strapping  on  ammu- 
nition belts  and  looking  to  their  rifles  and  revolvers. 

"There  are  too  many  doors  and  windows  to  this 
cabin.  We  can't  hold  it  against  them.  We'll  take 
the  trail  from  the  back  door  that  leads  up  to  the  old 


274        "A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

spring.  From  up  there  we'll  keep  an  eye  on  them," 
said  Dick. 

"I  see  'em  coming,"  cried  the  older  man  softly 
from  the  front  window.  "They  ain't  on  the  trail, 
but  slipping  up  through  the  rocks.  One — two — 
three — four — Lord,  there's  no  end  to  the  beggars! 
They're  on  foot  now.  Left  their  hawsses,  I  expect, 
down  by  the  river." 

Quietly  the  two  men  stepped  from  the  back  door 
of  the  cabin  and  swiftly  ascended  the  little  trail  that 
rose  at  a  sharp  acclivity  to  the  spring.  At  some 
height  above  the  cabin,  they  crouched  behind  boul- 
ders and  watched  the  cautious  approach  of  the 
enemy. 

"Not  taking  any  chances,  are  they?"  murmured 
Gordon. 

Steve  laughed  softly. 

"Heard  about  that  chicken-killing  affair,  mebbe, 
and  none  of  them  anxious  to  add  a  goose  to  the  ex- 
hibit." 

"It  would  be  right  easy  to  give  that  surprise  party 
a  first-class  surprise,"  chuckled  Dick.  "Shall  I  drop 
a  pill  or  two  down  among  them,  just  to  let  them 
know  we're  on  the  premises  ?" 

"Now,  don't  you,  Dick.  We'll  have  to  put  half 
of  'em  out  of  biz,  and  get  shot  up  by  the  rest,  if 
you  do." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        275 

"All  right.  I'll  be  good,  Steve.  I  was  only 
joking,  anyhow.  But  it  ce'tainly  is  right  funny  to 
sit  up  here  and  watch  them  snake  up  to  the  empty 
cabin.  See  that  fellow  with  the  Mexican  hat?  I 
believe  it's  my  jealous  friend  Pablo.  He's  ce'tainly 
anxious  to  get  one  Gringo's  scalp.  I  could  drop  a 
stone  down  on  him  so  he'd  jump  about  'steen  feet." 

"There's  one  reached  the  window.  He's  looking 
in  mighty  careful,  you  bet.  Now  he's  beckoning  the 
other  fellows.  I  got  a  notion  he's  made  a  discov- 
ery." 

"Got  on  to  the  fact  that  the  nest's  empty.  They're 
pouring  in  like  bees.  Can  you  make  out  how  many 
there  are  ?  I  count  nine,"  said  Dick. 

"They're  having  a  powwow  now.  All  talking 
with  their  hands,  the  way  greasers  do.  Go  to  it, 
boys.  A  regular  debating  society,  ain't  you?" 

"Hello !    What's  that  mean  ?"  broke  in  Gordon. 

One  of  the  Mexicans  had  left  the  rest,  and  was 
running  toward  the  Corbett  house. 

"Gone  to  find  whether  we're  on  the  porch  with 
the  family,  up  there,"  continued  the  young  man,  an- 
swering his  own  question. 

"What's  the  matter  with  beating  it  while  we've 
got  a  chanct?" 

"I'm  going  to  stay  right  here.  You  can  go  if 
you  like,  Steve?" 


276        'A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Oh,  well.  I  just  suggested  it."  Davis  helped 
himself  to  a  chew  of  tobacco  placidly. 

"Fellow  coming  back  from  the  house  already,"  he 
presently  added. 

"Got  the  wrong  address  again.  They'll  be  hap- 
pening on  the  right  one  pretty  soon." 

"Soon  as  they're  amply  satisfied  we  ain't  under 
the  beds,  or  hid  between  the  covers  of  some  of  them 
magazines.  Blamed  if  they  ain't  lit  a  lamp." 

Gordon  gave  a  sudden  exclamation  of  dismay.  A 
Mexican  had  appeared  at  the  back  door  of  the  cot- 
tage with  a  tin  box  in  his  hand. 

"I'm  the  blamedest  idiot  out  of  an  asylum,"  he 
cried  bitterly.  "All  the  proofs  of  my  claim  are  in 
that  box.  You  know  I  brought  it  back  from  Santa 
Fe  with  me." 

"Ain't  that  too  bad?" 

Gordon  rose,  the  lines  of  his  mouth  set  fast  and 
hard. 

"I'm  going  down  after  it.  If  I  lose  those  papers, 
the  whole  game's  spoilt  for  me.  I've  got  to  have 
them,  and  I'm  going  to." 

"Don't  be  a  goat.  How  can  you  take  it  from  a 
whole  company  of  them?" 

"I'll  watch  my  chance.  It  may  be  the  fellow  will 
hide  it  somewhere  till  he  wants  it  again." 

"I'm  going,  too,  then." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        277 

"See  here,  Steve.  Be  sensible.  If  we  both  go 
down,  it's  a  sure  thing  they  will  stumble  on  us." 

"Too  late,  anyhow.  They're  coming  up  after 
us"." 

"So  much  the  better.  We'll  cut  across  to  the  left, 
slip  down,  and  take  them  in  the  rear.  Likely  as  not 
we'll  find  it  there." 

"All  right.    Whatever  you  say,  Dick." 

They  slipped  away  into  the  semi-darkness,  taking 
advantage  of  every  bit  of  cover  they  could  find.  Not 
until  they  were  a  long  stone's  throw  from  the  trail 
did  the  young  miner  begin  the  descent. 

Occasionally  they  could  hear  voices  over  to  the 
right  as  they  silently  slipped  down.  It  was  no  easy 
thing  to  negotiate  that  stiff  mountainside  in  the 
darkness,  where  a  slip  would  have  sent  one  of  them 
rolling  down  into  the  sharp  rock-slide  beneath. 
Presently  they  came  to  a  rockrim,  a  sheer  descent 
of  twenty-five  feet  down  the  perpendicular  face  of 
a  cliff. 

They  followed  the  ledge  to  the  left,  hoping  to  find 
a  trough  through  which  they  might  discover  a  way 
down.  But  in  this  they  were  disappointed. 

"We'll  have  to  go  back.  There's  a  place  we  passed 
where  perhaps  it  may  be  done.  We've  got  to  try  it, 
anyhow,"  said  Gordon,  in  desperation. 

Retracing  their  steps,  they  came  to  the  point  Dick 


278        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

had  meant.  It  looked  bad  enough,  in  all  conscience, 
but  from  the  rocks  there  jutted  halfway  down  a 
dwarf  oak  that  had  found  rooting  in  a  narrow  cleft. 

The  young  man  worked  his  body  over  the  edge, 
secured  a  foothold  in  some  tiny  scarp  that  broke 
the  smoothness  of  the  face,  and  groped,  with  one 
hand  and  then  the  other,  for  some  hold  that  would 
do  to  brace  his  weight.  He  found  one,  lowered 
himself  gingerly,  and  tested  another  foothold  in  a 
little  bunch  of  dry  moss. 

"All  right.     My  rifle,  Steve." 

It  was  handed  down.  At  that  precise  moment 
there  came  to  them  the  sound  of  approaching 
voices. 

"Your  gun,  Steve !  Quick.  Now,  then,  over  you 
come.  That's  right — no,  the  other  hand — your  foot 
goes  there — easy,  now." 

They  stood  together  on  a  three-inch  ledge,  their 
heels  projecting  over  space.  Nor  had  they  reached 
this  precarious  safety  any  too  soon,  for  already  their 
pursuers  were  passing  along  the  rim  above. 

One  of  them  stopped  on  the  edge,  scarce  eight 
feet  above  them. 

"They  must  have  come  this  way,"  he  said  to  a 
companion.  "But  I  expect  they're  hitting  the  trail 
about  a  mile  from  here." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        279 

"Si,  Pablo.  Can  you  feed  me  a  cigareet?"  the 
other  asked. 

The  men  below,  scarce  daring  to  breathe,  waited, 
while  the  matches  glimmered  and  the  cigarettes 
puffed  to  a  glow.  Every  instant  they  anticipated 
discovery;  and  they  were  in  such  a  position  that,  if 
it  came,  neither  of  them  could  use  his  weapons. 
For  they  were  cramped  against  the  wall  with  their 
rifles  by  their  sides,  so  bound  by  the  situation  that 
to  have  lifted  them  to  aim  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble. 

"The  American — he  has  escaped  us  this  time," 
one  of  them  said  as  they  moved  off. 

"Maldito,  the  devil  has  given  him  wings  to  fly 
away,"  replied  Pablo. 

After  the  sound  of  their  footsteps  had  died,  Gor- 
don resumed  his  descent.  He  reached  the  stunted 
oak  in  safety,  and  was  again  joined  by  his  friend. 

"Looks  like  we're  caught  here,  Steve.  There  ain't 
a  sign  of  a  foothold  below,"  the  younger  man  whis- 
pered. 

"Mebbe  the  branches  of  that  tree  will  bend  over." 

"We'll  have  to  try  it,  anyhow.  If  it  breaks  with 
me,  I'll  get  to  the  bottom,  just  the  same.  Here 
goes." 

Catching  hold  of  the  branches,  he  swung  down 
and  groped  with  his  feet  for  a  resting-place. 


S80        14  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"Nothing  doing,  Steve." 

"What  blamed  luck!" 

"Hold  on !  Here's  a  cleft,  away  over  to  the  right. 
Let  me  get  a  hold  on  that  gun  to  steady  me.  That's 
all  right.  The  rest's  easy.  I'll  give  you  a  hand 
across — that's  right.  Now  we're  there." 

At  the  very  foot  of  the  cliff  an  unexplainable  ac- 
cident occurred.  Dick's  rifle  went  off  with  noise 
enough  to  wake  the  seven  sleepers. 

"Come  on,  Steve.  We  got  to  get  out  of  here," 
he  called  to  his  partner,  and  began  to  run  down  the 
hill  toward  their  cabin. 

He  covered  ground  so  fast  that  the  other  could 
not  keep  up  with  him.  From  above  there  came  the 
crack  of  a  rifle,  then  another  and  another,  as  the 
men  on  the  ridge  sighted  their  prey.  A  spatter  of 
bullets  threw  up  the  dirt  around  them.  Dick  felt  a 
red-hot  flame  sting  his  leg,  but,  though  he  had  been 
hit,  to  his  surprise  he  was  not  checked. 

Topping  the  brow  of  a  little  rise,  he  caught  sight 
of  the  cabin,  and,  to  his  consternation,  saw  that 
smoke  was  pouring  from  the  door  and  that  within 
it  was  alight  with  flames. 

"The  beggars  have  set  fire  to  it,"  he  cried  aloud. 

So  far  as  he  could  see,  four  men  had  been  left 
below.  They  did  not  at  first  catch  sight  of  him  as 
he  dodged  forward  in  the  shadows  of  the  alders  at 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        281 

the  foot  of  the  hill.  Nor  did  they  see  him  even 
when  he  stopped  among  the  rocks  at  the  rear,  for 
their  eyes  were  on  Davis  and  their  attention  focused 
upon  him. 

He  had  come  puffing  to  the  brow  of  the  hillock 
Gordon  had  already  passed,  when  a  shout  from  the 
ridge  apprised  those  below  of  his  presence.  Cut  off 
above  and  below,  there  was  nothing  left  for  Steve 
but  a  retreat  down  the  road.  He  could  not  possibly 
advance  in  the  face  of  four  rifles,  and  he  knew,  too, 
that  the  best  aid  he  could  offer  his  friend  was  to  de- 
flect the  attention  of  the  watchers  from  him. 

He  fell  back  promptly,  running  from  boulder  to 
boulder  in  his  retreat,  pursued  cautiously  by  the 
enemy.  His  ruse  would  have  succeeded  admirably, 
so  far  as  Dick  was  concerned,  except  for  that  young 
man  himself.  He  could  not  sit  quiet  and  see  his 
friend  the  focus  of  the  fire. 

Wherefore,  it  happened  that  the  attackers  of 
Davis  were  halted  momentarily  by  a  disconcerting 
fusillade  from  the  rear.  The  "American  devil"  had 
come  out  into  the  open,  and  was  dropping  lead 
among  them. 

At  this  juncture  a  rider  galloped  into  view  from 
the  river  gorge  along  which  wound  the  road.  He 
pulled  his  jaded  horse  to  a  halt  beside  the  old  miner 
and  leaped  to  the  ground. 


282        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Without  waiting  an  instant  for  their  fire  to  cease, 
he  ran  straight  forward  toward  the  pursuing  Mex- 
icans. 

As  he  came  into  the  moonlight,  Dick  saw  with 
surprise  that  the  newcomer  was  Don  Manuel  Pes- 
quiera.  He  was  hatless,  apparently  too  unarmed. 
But  not  for  a  second  did  this  stop  him  as  he  sprinted 
forward. 

Straight  for  the  spitting  rifles  Don  Manuel  ran, 
face  ablaze  with  anger.  He  had  covered  half  the 
distance  before  the  weapons  wavered  groundward. 

"Don  Manuel!"  cried  Sebastian,  perturbed  by 
this  apparition  flying  through  the  night  toward 
them. 

Dick  waited  only  long  enough  to  make  sure  that 
hostilities  had  for  the  moment  ceased  against  his 
friend  before  beginning  his  search  for  the  tin  box. 

He  quartered  back  and  forth  over  the  ground  be- 
hind the  burning  house  without  result,  circled  it 
rapidly,  his  eyes  alert  to  catch  the  shine  of  the  box 
in  the  moonbeams,  and  examined  the  space  among 
the  rocks  at  the  base  of  the  hill.  Nowhere  did  he 
see  what  he  wanted. 

"I'll  have  to  take  a  whirl  at  the  house.  Some  of 
them  may  have  carried  it  back  inside,"  he  told  him- 
self. 

As  he   stepped  toward   the  door,   Don  Manuel 


283 


came  round  the  corner.  At  his  heels  were  Steve  and 
the  four  Mexicans  who  had  but  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore been  trying  industriously  to  exterminate  the 
miner. 

Don  Manuel  bowed  punctiliously  to  Gordon. 

"I  beg  to  express  my  very  great  regrettance  at 
this  untimely  attack,"  he  said. 

"Don't  mention  it,  don.  This  business  of  chas- 
ing over  the  hills  in  the  moonlight  is  first-class  for 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  I  expect.  Most  of  us 
got  quite  a  bit  of  exercise,  first  and  last." 

Dick  spoke  with  light  irony;  but  one  distraught 
half  of  his  attention  was  upon  the  burning  house. 

"Nevertheless,  you  will  permeet  me  to  regret, 
senor,"  returned  the  young  Spaniard  stiffly. 

"Ce'tainly.  You're  naturally  sore  that  you  didn't 
get  first  crack  at  me.  Don't  blame  you  a  bit,"  agreed 
Dick  cheerfully  but  absently.  "Funny  thing  is  that 
one  of  your  friends  happened  to  send  his  message 
to  my  address,  all  right.  Got  me  in  the  left  laig, 
just  before  you  butted  in  and  spoiled  their  picnic 
so  inconsiderate." 

"You  are  then  wounded,  sir?" 

"Not  worth  mentioning,  don.  Just  a  little  acci- 
dent. Wouldn't  happen  again  in  a  thousand  years. 
Never  did  see  such  poor  shots  as  your  valley  lads. 


284        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Say,  will  you  excuse  me  just  a  minute?    I  got  some 
awful  important  business  to  attend  to." 

"Most  entirely,  Sefior  Gordon." 

"Thanks.    Won't  be  a  minute." 

To  Pesquiera's  amazement,  he  dived  through  the 
door,  from  which  smoke  poured  in  clouds,  and  was 
at  once  lost  to  sight  within. 

"He  is  a  madman,"  the  Spaniard  murmured. 

"Or  devil,"  added  Sebastian  significantly.  "You 
will  see,  senor,  he  will  come  out  safe  and  un- 
harmed." 

But  he  did  not  come  out  at  all,  though  the  min- 
utes dragged  themselves  away  one  after  another. 

"I'm  going  after  him,"  cried  Davis,  starting  for- 
ward. 

But  Don  Manuel  flung  strong  arms  about  him, 
and  threw  the  miner  back  into  the  hands  of  the 
Mexicans. 

"Hold  him,"  he  cried  in  Spanish. 

"Let  me  go.  Let  me  go,  I  say !"  cried  the  miner, 
struggling  with  those  who  detained  him. 

But  Pesquiera  had  already  gone  to  the  rescue. 
He,  too,  plunged  through  the  smoke.  Blinded,  un- 
able to  breathe,  he  groped  his  way  across  the  door 
lintel  into  the  blazing  hut. 

The  heat  was  intense.  Red  tongues  of  flame 
licked  out  from  all  sides  toward  him.  But  he  would 


285 


not  give  up,  though  he  was  gasping  for  breath  and 
could  not  see  through  the  dense  smoke. 

A  sweep  of  wind  brushed  the  smoke  aside  for  an 
instant,  and  he  saw  the  body  of  his  enemy  lying  on 
the  floor  before  him.  He  stooped,  tried  to  pick  it 
up,  but  was  already  too  far  gone  himself. 

Almost  overcome,  he  sank  to  his  knees  beside 
Gordon.  Close  to  the  floor  the  air  was  still  breatha- 
ble. He  filled  his  lungs,  staggered  to  his  feet,  and 
tried  to  drag  the  unconscious  man  across  the 
threshold  with  him. 

A  hundred  fiery  dragons  sprang  unleashed  at 
him.  The  heat,  the  stifling  smoke  were  more  than 
flesh  and  blood  could  endure.  He  stumbled  over  a 
fallen  chair,  got  up  and  plowed  forward  again,  still 
with  that  dead  weight  in  his  arms ;  collapsed  again, 
and  yet  once  more  pulled  himself  to  his  feet  by  the 
sheer  strength  of  the  dogged  will  in  him. 

So,  at  last,  like  a  drunken  man,  he  reeled  into 
safety,  the  very  hair  and  clothes  of  the  man  on  fire 
from  the  inferno  he  had  just  left. 

A  score  of  eager  hands  were  ready  to  relieve  him 
of  his  burden,  to  support  his  lurching  footsteps. 
Two  of  them  were  the  strong  brown  hands  of  the 
woman  he  loved  more  than  any  other  on  earth,  the 
woman  who  had  galloped  into  sight  just  in  time  to 
see  him  come  staggering  from  that  furnace  with  the 


286        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

body  of  the  man  who  was  his  hated  rival.  It  was 
her  soft  hands  that  smothered  the  fire  in  his  hair, 
that  dragged  the  burning  coat  from  his  back. 

He  smiled  wanly,  murmured  "Valencia,"  and 
fainted  in  her  arms. 

Gordon  clutched  in  his  stiffened  fingers  a  tin  box 
blistered  by  the  heat. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE   TIN    BOX 

Dick  Gordon  lay  on  a  bed  in  a  sunny  south  room 
at  the  Corbett  place. 

He  was  swathed  in  bandages,  and  had  something 
the  appearance  of  a  relic  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  as 
our  comic  weeklies  depict  Young  America  the  day 
after  that  glorious  occasion.  But,  except  for  one 
thing  which  he  had  on  his  mind,  the  Coloradoan  was 
as  imperturbably  gay  as  ever. 

He  had  really  been  a  good  deal  less  injured  than 
his  rescuer;  for,  though  a  falling  rafter  had  struck 
him  down  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  hut,  this  very 
accident  had  given  him  the  benefit  of  such  air  as 
there  had  been  in  the  cabin.  Here  and  there  he  had 
been  slightly  burned,  but  he  had  not  been  forced  to 
inhale  smoke. 

Wound  in  leg  and  all,  the  doctor  had  considered 
him  out  of  danger  long  before  he  felt  sure  of  Don 
Manuel. 

The  young  Spaniard  lay  several  days  with  his 
life  despaired  of.  The  most  unremitting  nursing 
287 


288        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

on  the  part  of  his  cousin  alone  pulled  him  through. 

She  would  not  give  up;  would  not  let  his  life  slip 
away.  And,  in  the  end,  she  had  won  her  hard  fight. 
Don  Manuel,  too,  was  on  the  road  to  recovery. 

While  her  cousin  had  been  at  the  worst,  Valencia 
Valdes  saw  the  wounded  Coloradoan  only  for  a 
minute  or  two  each  day;  but,  with  Pesquiera's  re- 
covery, she  began  to  divide  her  time  more  equitably. 

"I've  been  wishing  I  was  the  bad  case,"  Dick  told 
her  whimsically  when  she  came  in  to  see  him.  "I'll 
bet  I  have  a  relapse  so  the  head  nurse  won't  always 
be  in  the  other  sick  room." 

"Manuel  is  my  cousin,  and  he  has  been  very,  very 
ill,"  she  answered  in  her  low,  sweet  voice,  the  color 
in  her  olive  cheeks  renewed  at  his  words. 

The  eyes  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  grew  grave. 

"How  is  Don  Manuel  to-night?" 

"Better.     Thank  Heaven." 

"That's  what  the  doctor  told  me." 

Dick  propped  himself  on  an  elbow  and  looked  di- 
rectly at  her,  that  affectionate  smile  of  his  on  his 
face. 

"Miss  Valdes,  do  you  know,  ever  since  I've  been 
well  enough,  I've  been  hoping  that  if  one  of  us  had 
to  cross  the  Great  Divide  it  would  be  me?" 

Her  troubled  eyes  studied  him. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        289 

"Because  it  would  seem  more  right  that  way.  I 
came  here  and  made  all  this  trouble  in  the  valley.  I 
insulted  him.  I  had  in  mind  another  hurt  to  him 
that  we  won't  discuss  just  now.  Then,  when  it 
comes  to  a  showdown,  he  just  naturally  waltzes  into 
Hades  and  saves  my  life  for  me  at  the  risk  of  his 
own.  No,  ma'am,  I  sure  couldn't  have  stood  it  if 
he  had  died." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way,"  she  answered  softly, 
her  eyes  dim. 

"How  else  could  I  feel,  and  be  a  white  man?  I 
tell  you,  it  makes  me  feel  mean  to  think  about  that 
day  I  threw  him  in  the  water.  Just  because  I'm  a 
great  big  husky,  about  the  size  of  two  of  him,  I 
abused  my  strength  and " 

"Just  a  moment,"  the  girl  smiled.  "You  are  for- 
getting he  struck  you  first." 

"Oh,  well !    I  reckon  I  could  have  stood  that." 

"Will  you  be  willing  to  tell  him  how  you  feel 
about  it?" 

"Will  I?    Well,  I  guess  yes." 

The  young  woman's  eyes  were  of  starry  radiance. 
"I'm  so  glad — so  happy.  I'm  sure  everything  will 
come  right,  now." 

He  nodded,  smiling. 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel,  Miss  Valencia.    They 


290        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

couldn't  go  wrong,  after  this — that  is,  they  couldn't 
go  clear  wrong." 

"I'm  quite  certain  of  that." 

"I  want  to  go  on  record  as  saying  that  Manuel 
Pesquiera  is  the  gamest  man  I  know.  That  isn't  all. 
He's  a  thoroughbred  on  top  of  it.  If  I  live  to  be  a 
hundred  I'll  never  be  as  fine  a  fellow.  My  hat's  off 
to  him." 

There  was  a  mist  in  her  soft  eyes  as  she  poured 
a  glass  of  ice  water  for  him.  "I'm  so  glad  to  hear 
you  say  that.  He  is  such  a  splendid  fellow." 

He  observed  she  was  no  longer  wearing  the  soli- 
taire and  thought  it  might  be  to  spare  his  feelings. 
So  he  took  the  subject  as  a  hunter  does  a  fence. 

"I  wish  you  all  the  joy  in  the  world,  Miss  Valdes. 
I  know  you're  going  to  be  very  happy.  I've  got  my 
wedding  present  all  picked  out  for  you,"  he  said 
audaciously. 

She  was  busy  tidying  up  his  dresser,  but  he  could 
see  the  color  flame  into  her  cheeks. 

"You  have  a  very  vivid  imagination,  Mr.  Gor- 
don." 

"Not  necessary  in  this  case,"  he  assured  her. 

"You're  quite  sure  of  that,  I  suppose,"  she  sug- 
gested with  a  touch  of  ironic  mockery. 

"I  haven't  read  any  announcement  in  the  paper," 
he  admitted. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        291 

"It  is  always  safe  to  wait  for  that." 

"Which  is  another  way  of  saying  that  it  is  none 
of  my  business.  But  then  you  see  it  is."  He 
offered  no  explanation  of  this  statement,  nor  did  he 
give  her  time  to  protest.  "Now  about  that  wed- 
ding present,  Miss  Valdes.  It's  in  a  tin  box  I  had 
in  the  cabin  before  the  fire.  Can  you  tell  me 
whether  it  was  saved  ?  My  recollection  is  that  I  had 
it  at  the  time  the  rafter  put  me  to  sleep.  But  of 
course  I  don't  remember  anything  more  till  I  found 
myself  in  bed  here." 

"A  tin  box  ?  Yes ;  you  had  it  in  your  hands  when 
Manuel  brought  you  out.  They  could  hardly  pry 
your  fingers  from  it." 

"Would  you  mind  having  that  box  brought  to 
me,  Miss  Valdes?  I  want  to  be  sure  the  present 
hasn't  been  injured  by  fire." 

"Of  course  not.  I  don't  just  know  where  it  is, 
but  it  must  be  somewhere  about  the  place." 

She  was  stepping  toward  the  door,  with  that  fine 
reaching  grace  of  a  fawn  that  distinguished  her, 
when  his  voice  stopped  her.  She  stopped,  delicate 
head  poised  and  half  turned,  apparently  waiting  for 
further  directions. 

"Not  just  this  minute,  please.  I've  been  lying 
here  all  day,  with  nobody  but  Steve.  Finally  he 
got  so  restless  I  had  to  turn  him  out  to  pasture.  It 


292        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

wouldn't  be  right  hospitable  to  send  you  away  so 
soon.  That  box  can  wait  till  you  have  had  all  of 
me  you  can  stand.  What  I  need  is  good  nursing, 
and  I  need  it  awful  bad,"  he  explained  plaintively. 

"Has  Mrs.  Corbett  been  neglecting  you?" 

"Mrs.  Corbett — no!"  he  shouted  with  a  spirit  in- 
domitable, but  a  voice  still  weak.  "She's  on  earth 
merely  to  cook  me  chicken  broth  and  custard.  It's 
you  that's  been  neglecting  me." 

The  gleam  of  a  strange  fire  was  in  her  dark, 
bright  eyes;  in  her  cheeks  the  soft  glow  of  beating 
color. 

"And  my  business  on  earth  is  to  fight  you,  is  it 
not?  But  I  can't  do  that  till  you  are  on  your  feet 
again,  sir." 

He  gave  her  back  her  debonair  smile. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Women  fight  with  the 
weapons  of  their  sex — and  often  win,  I'm  told." 

"You  mean,  perhaps,  tears  and  appeals  for  pity. 
They  are  weapons  I  cannot  use,  sir.  I  had  liefer 
lose." 

"I  dare  say  there  are  other  weapons  in  your  arse- 
nal. I  know  you're  too  game  to  use  those  you've 
named." 

"What  others  ?"  she  asked  quietly. 

He  let  his  eyes  rest  on  her,  sweep  over  her,  and 
come  back  to  the  meeting  with  hers.  But  he  did  not 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        293 

name  them.  Instead,  he  came  to  another  angle  of 
the  subject. 

"You  never  know  when  you  are  licked,  do  you? 
Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  compromise  this  land 
grant  business?" 

"What  sort  of  a  compromise  have  you  to  offer, 
sir?"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

"Have  your  lawyers  told  you  yet  that  you  have 
no  chance?" 

"Would  it  be  wise  for  me  to  admit  I  have  none, 
before  I  go  to  discuss  the  terms  of  the  treaty?"  she 
asked,  and  put  it  so  innocently  that  he  acknowl- 
edged the  hit  with  a  grin. 

"I  thought  that,  if  you  knew  you  were  going  to 
lose,  you  might  be  easier  to  deal  with.  I'm  such  a 
fellow  to  want  the  whole  thing  in  my  bargains." 

"If  that's  how  you  feel,  I  don't  think  I'll  com- 
promise." 

"Well,  I  didn't  really  expect  you  would.  I  just 
mentioned  it." 

"It  was  very  good  of  you.  Now  I  think  I'll  go 
back  to  my  cousin." 

"If  you  must.  I'm  coming  over  to  his  room  as 
soon  as  the  doc  will  let  me,  and  as  soon  as  he'll  see 
me." 

She  gave  him  a  sudden  flash  of  happy  eyes.  "I 
hope  you  will.  There  must  be  no  more  trouble  be- 


294        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

tween  him  and  you.  There  couldn't  be  after  this, 
could  there?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  if  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel.  He  can 
say  what  he  wants  to,  make  a  door-mat  out  of  me, 
go  gunning  after  me  till  the  cows  come  home,  and 
I  won't  do  a  thing  but  be  a  delegate  to  a  peace  con- 
ference. No,  ma'am.  I'm  through." 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  it." 

"Are  you  as  anxious  I  should  make  up  my  quar- 
rel with  you  as  the  ones  with  your  friends?"  he 
asked  boldly. 

The  effrontery  of  this  lean,  stalwart  young 
American — if  effrontery  it  was,  and  no  other  name 
seemed  to  define  it — surprised  another  dash  of  roses 
into  the  olive. 

"The  way  to  make  up  your  quarrel  with  me  is  to 
make  up  those  with  my  friends,"  she  answered. 

"All  right.  Suits  me.  I'll  call  those  deputies 
off  and  send  them  home.  Pablo  and  Sebastian  will 
never  go  to  the  pen  on  my  evidence.  They're  in  the 
clear  so  far  as  I'm  concerned." 

She  gave  him  both  her  hands.  "Thank  you. 
Thank  you.  I'm  so  glad." 

The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes.  She  bit  her  lip,  turned 
and  left  the  room. 

He  called  after  her : 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        295 

"Please  don't  forget  my  tin  box." 

"I'll  remember  your  precious  box,"  she  called 
back  with  a  pretense  of  scorn. 

He  laughed  to  himself  softly.  There  was  sun- 
shine in  his  eyes. 

She  had  resolved  to  leave  him  to  Mrs.  Corbett  in 
future,  but  within  the  hour  she  was  back. 

"I  came  about  your  tin  box.  Nobody  seems  to 
know  where  it  is.  Everybody  remembers  having 
seen  it  in  your  hands.  I  suppose  we  left  it  on  the 
ground  when  we  brought  you  to  the  house,  but  I 
can't  find  anybody  that  removed  it.  Perhaps  some 
of  my  people  have  seen  it.  I'll  send  and  ask  them." 

He  smiled  disconsolately. 

"I  may  as  well  say  good-bye  to  it." 

"If  you  mean  that  my  boys  are  thieves,"  she  re- 
torted hotly. 

"I  didn't  say  that,  ma'am ;  but  mebbe  I  did  imply 
they  wouldn't  return  that  particular  box,  when  they 
found  what  was  in  it.  I  shouldn't  blame  them  if 
they  didn't." 

"I  should.  Very  much.  This  merely  shows  you 
don't  understand  us  at  all,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"I  wish  I  had  that  box.  It  ce'tainly  disarranges 
my  plans  to  have  it  gone,"  he  said  irritably. 

"I  assure  you  I  didn't  take  it." 

"I  don't  lay  it  to  you,  though  it  would  ce'tainly  be 


296        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

to  your  advantage  to  take  it,"  he  laughed,  already 
mollified. 

"Will  you  please  explain  that  ?" 

"All  my  claims  of  title  to  this  land  grant  are  in 
that  box,  Miss  Valdes,"  he  remarked  placidly,  as  if 
it  were  a  matter  of  no  consequence. 

She  went  white  at  his  words. 

"And  it  is  lost — probably  in  the  hands  of  my  peo- 
ple. We  must  get  it  back." 

"But  you're  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,"  he 
reminded  her  gaily. 

With  dignity  she  turned  on  him. 

"Do  you  think  I  want  to  beat  you  that  way  ?  Do 
you  think  I  am  a  highwayman,  or  that  I  shall  let  my 
people  be  ?" 

"You  make  them  draw  the  line  between  murder 
and  robbery,"  he  suggested  pleasantly. 

"I  couldn't  stop  them  from  attacking  you,  but  I 
can  see  they  don't  keep  your  papers — all  the  more, 
that  it  is  to  their  interest  and  mine  to  keep  them." 

She  said  it  with  such  fine  girlish  pride,  her  head 
thrown  a  little  back,  her  eyes  gleaming,  scorn  of  his 
implied  distrust  in  her  very  carriage.  For  long  he 
joyfully  carried  the  memory  of  it. 

Surely,  she  was  the  rarest  creature  it  had  ever 
been  his  fortune  to  meet.  Small  wonder  the  gallant 
Spaniard  Don  Manuel  loved  her.  Small  wonder  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        297 

people  fed  on  her  laughter,  and  were  despondent  at 
her  frowns. 

Dick  Gordon  was  awake  a  good  deal  that  night, 
for  the  pain  and  the  fever  were  still  with  him;  but 
the  hours  were  short  to  him,  full  of  joy  and  also  of 
gloom.  Shifting  pictures  of  her  filled  the  darkness. 
His  imagination  saw  her  in  many  moods,  in  many 
manners.  And  when  from  time  to  time  he  dropped 
into  light  sleep,  it  was  to  carry  her  into  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

DICK  GORDON  APOLOGIZES 

Don  Manuel  was  at  first  too  spent  a  man  even  to 
wish  to  get  well.  As  his  cousin's  nursing  dragged 
him  farther  and  farther  back  into  this  world  from 
which  he  had  so  nearly  slipped,  he  was  content  to 
lie  still  and  take  the  goods  the  gods  provided. 

She  was  with  him  for  the  present.  That  sufficed. 
Whether  he  lived  or  died  he  did  not  care  a  hand's 
turn ;  but  the  while  Fate  flipped  a  coin  to  determine 
whether  it  should  be  life  or  death  for  him,  he  had 
Valencia's  love  as  he  feared  he  would  never  have  it 
in  case  he  recovered. 

For  these  days  she  lived  for  him  alone.  Her 
every  thought  and  desire  had  been  for  him.  On  this 
his  soul  fed,  since  he  felt  that,  as  they  slipped  back 
into  the  ordinary  tide  of  life,  she  would  withdraw 
herself  gently  but  surely  from  him. 

He  had  fought  against  the  conviction  that  she 
loved  his  rival,  the  Colorado  claimant  to  the  valley. 
He  had  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  her  interest 
in  the  miner  was  natural  under  the  circumstances 
and  entirely  independent  of  sentiment.  But  in  the 

298 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        299 

bottom  of  his  heart  such  assurances  did  not  con- 
vince. 

"You  will  be  able  to  sit  up  in  a  few  days.  It's 
wonderful  how  you  have  improved,"  she  told  him 
one  day  as  she  finished  changing  his  pillow. 

"Yes,  I  shall  be  well  soon.  You  will  be  relieved 
of  me,"  he  said  with  a  kind  of  gentle  sadness. 

"As  if  I  wanted  to  be,"  she  reproved  softly,  her 
hand  smoothing  down  his  hair. 

"No.  You're  very  good  to  me.  You  don't  want 
to  be  rid  of  me.  But  it's  best  you  should  be.  I 
have  had  all  of  you  that's  good  for  me,  my  cousin, 
unless  I  could  have  more  than  I  dare  hope." 

She  looked  through  the  window  at  the  sunlit 
warmth  of  the  land,  and,  after  a  long  time,  said : 

"Must  we  talk  of  that,  Manuel?" 

"No,  niiia — riot  if  I  am  once  sure.  I  have 
guessed;  but  I  must  be  certain  beyond  the  possibil- 
ity of  mistake.  Is  my  guess  right?  That  it  can 
never  be." 

She  turned  dim  eyes  on  him  and  nodded.  A 
lump  had  risen  to  her  throat  that  forbade  speech. 

"I  can  still  say,  dearest,  that  I  am  glad  to  have 
loved  you,"  he  answered  cheerfully,  after  an  in- 
stant's silence.  "And  I  can  promise  that  I  shall 
trouble  you  no  more.  Shall  we  talk  of  something 
else?" 


300        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"There  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  tell  you  first," 
she  said  with  pretty  timidity.  "How  proud  I  am 
that  such  a  man  could  have  loved  me.  You  are  the 
finest  man  I  know.  I  must  be  a  foolish  girl  not  to — 
care  for  you — that  way." 

"No.  A  woman's  heart  goes  where  it  must.  If 
a  man  loses,  he  loses." 

She  choked  over  her  words.  "It  doesn't  seem 
fair.  I  promised.  I  wore  your  ring.  I  said  that 
if  you  saved  .  .  .  him  ...  I  would  marry  you. 
Manuel,  I  ...  I'll  keep  faith  if  you'll  take  me  and 
be  content  to  wait  for  .  .  .  that  kind  of  love  to 
grow." 

"No,  my  cousin.  I  have  wooed  and  lost.  Why 
should  you  be  bound  by  a  pledge  made  at  such  a 
time?  As  your  heart  tells  you  to  do,  so  you  must 
do."  He  added  after  a  pause:  "It  is  this  Amer- 
ican, is  it  not?" 

Again  she  nodded  twice,  not  looking  at  him  lest 
she  see  the  pain  in  his  eyes. 

"I  wish  you  joy,  Valencia — a  world  full  of  it, 
so  long  as  life  lasts." 

He  took  her  fingers  in  his,  and  kissed  them  before 
he  passed  lightly  to  another  subject: 

"Have  you  heard  anything  yet  of  the  tin  box  of 
Mr.  Gordon's?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        301 

She  accepted  the  transition  gratefully,  for  she 
was  so  moved  she  was  afraid  lest  she  break  down. 

"Not  yet.  It  is  strange,  too,  where  it  has  gone. 
I  have  had  inquiries  made  everywhere." 

"For  me,  I  hope  it  is  never  found.  Why  should 
you  feel  responsibility  to  search  for  these  papers 
that  will  ruin  you  and  your  tenants  ?" 

"If  my  men  had  not  attacked  and  tried  to  mur- 
der him  he  would  still  have  his  evidence.  I  seek 
only  to  put  him  in  the  position  he  was  in  before  we 
injured  him." 

"You  must  judge  for  yourself,  Valencia.  But,  if 
you  don't  mind,  I  shall  continue  to  wish  you  failure 
in  your  search,"  he  replied. 

It  was  now  that  Jimmie  Corbett  came  into  the 
room  to  say  that  Mr.  Gordon  would  like  to  call  on 
Don  Manuel,  if  the  latter  felt  able  to  receive  him. 

Pesquiera  did  not  glance  at  his  cousin.  He  an- 
swered the  boy  at  once. 

"Tell  Mr.  Gordon  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him," 
he  said  quietly. 

Nor  did  he  look  at  her  after  the  boy  had  left  the 
room,  lest  his  gaze  embarrass  her,  but  gave  his  at- 
tention wholly  to  propping  himself  up  on  his  elbow. 

Dick  stood  a  moment  filling  the  doorway  before 
he  came  limping  into  the  room.  From  that  point 


302         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

he  bowed  to  Miss  Valdes,  then  moved  forward  to 
the  bed. 

He  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands,  but  stood  look- 
ing down  at  his  rival,  with  an  odd  look  of  envy  on 
his  face.  But  it  was  the  envy  of  a  brave  and  gen- 
erous man,  who  acknowledged  victory  to  his  foe. 

"I  give  you  best,  Don  Manuel,"  he  finally  said. 
"You've  got  me  beat  at  every  turn  of  the  road.  You 
saved  my  life  again,  and  mighty  near  paid  with  your 
own.  There  ain't  anything  to  say  that  will  cover 
that,  I  reckon." 

The  Spaniard's  eyes  met  his  steadily,  but  Pes- 
quiera  did  not  say  a  word.  He  was  waiting  to  see 
what  the  other  meant. 

"You're  a  gamer  man  than  I  am,  and  a  better 
one.  All  I  can  say  is  that  I'm  sorry  and  ashamed 
of  myself  for  the  way  I  treated  you.  If  you  still 
want  to  fight  me,  I'll  stand  up  and  give  you  a  chance 
to  pepper  me.  Anything  you  think  right." 

"If  you  put  it  so,  sir,  I  have  no  choice  but  to  join 
you  in  regrets  and  hopes  of  future  amity." 

"I  can  understand  that  you'd  like  to  spill  me  over 
a  ten-acre  lot,  and  that  you  don't  listen  to  my  apolo- 
gies with  any  joy,"  said  the  Coloradoan,  smiling 
whimsically  down  at  his  former  foe. 

"I  do  not  forget  that  the  first  offense  was  mine, 
Seiior  Gordon,"  the  Spaniard  answered. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        303 

Then  came  Jimmie  Corbett  again  with  a  message 
for  Miss  Valdes. 

"Pablo  wants  to  see  you,  ma'am.  Just  rode  over 
from  the  ranch.  Says  it's  important." 

The  hands  of  the  two  men  met  in  a  strong  grip 
as  Valencia  left  the  room,  and  so,  too,  did  their 
steady  gazes.  Each  of  them  knew  that  the  other 
was  his  rival  for  the  heart  of  the  girl.  Oddly 
enough,  each  thought  the  other  was  the  successful 
suitor.  But  there  was  in  each  some  quality  of  man- 
liness that  drew  them  together  in  spite  of  them- 
selves. 

Valencia  found  Pablo  sitting  on  the  porch.  A 
rifle  lay  across  his  knees  ready  for  emergencies. 
The  deputies  had  ridden  away  to  the  other  end  of 
the  valley  that  morning,  but  Menendez  did  not  in- 
tend to  be  caught  napping  in  case  of  their  unex- 
pected return. 

Miss  Valdes  smiled.  "You  needn't  be  so  careful, 
Pablo.  I  bring  you  good  news — better  than  you  de- 
serve. Mr.  Gordon  has  promised  to  drop  the  cases 
against  you  and  Sebastian.  Even  if  the  officers  ar- 
rest you,  nothing  can  come  of  it  except  a  trip  to 
Santa  Fe  for  a  few  days.  If  I  were  you  I  would 
give  myself  up.  The  rewards  have  been  withdrawn, 
so  it  is  not  likely  your  friends  will  betray  you." 

"But,  Dona,  are  you  sure?    Will  this  Americano 


804        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

keep  his  word?  Is  it  certain  they  will  not  hold  me 
in  prison  ?" 

"I  tell  you  it  is  sure.  Is  that  not  enough?  Did 
you  find  Mr.  Gordon  so  ready  to  give  you  his  word 
and  break  it  when  he  was  your  prisoner?" 

"True,  Dona.  He  laughed  at  us  and  told  us  to 
kill  him.  He  is  a  brave  man." 

"And  brave  men  do  not  lie." 

Pablo  turned  to  his  horse  and  took  down  from 
the  horn  of  the  saddle  a  gunny  sack  tied  to  it.  This 
he  opened.  From  it  he  drew  a  tin  box  that  had 
been  badly  blistered  with  heat. 

"It  is  Senor  Gordon's  tin  box.  After  you  carried 
him  to  the  house  here  the  other  night  I  found  it 
under  a  cottonwood.  So  I  took  it  home  with  me. 
They  are  papers.  Important Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"Yes.  I  have  been  looking  everywhere  for  them. 
You  did  right  to  bring  them  back  to  me." 

"Perhaps  they  may  help  you  win  the  land.  Eh, 
Dona?" 

"Perhaps.  You  know  I  offered  a  reward  of 
twenty-five  dollars  for  the  box.  It  is  yours.  Buy 
some  furniture  with  it  when  you  and  Juanita  go  to 
housekeeping." 

"That  is  all  past,  alas,  Senorita.  Juanita  looks 
down  her  nose  when  I  am  near.  She  does  not  speak 
to  me." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        305 

"Foolish  boy!  That  is  a  sign  she  thinks  much  of 
you.  Tell  her  you  did  wrong  to  accuse  her.  Beg 
her  to  forgive  you.  Do  not  sulk,  but  love  her  and 
she  will  smile  on  you." 

"But — this  Senor  Gordon?" 

"All  nonsense,  Pablo.  I  have  talked  with  Juanita. 
It  is  you  she  loves.  Go  to  her  and  be  good  to  her. 
She  is  back  there  in  the  milkhouse  churning.  But 
remember  she  is  only  a  girl — so  young,  and  mother- 
less, too.  It  is  the  part  of  a  man  to  be  kind  and 
generous  and  forbearing  to  a  woman.  He  must  be 
gentle — always  gentle,  if  he  would  hold  her  love. 
Can  you  do  that,  Pablo?  Or  are  you  only  a  hot- 
headed, selfish,  foolish  boy?" 

"I  will  try,  Dona,"  he  answered  humbly.  "For 
always  have  I  love'  her  since  she  was  such  a  little 
muchacha." 

"Then  go.  Don't  tell  her  I  sent  you.  She  must 
feel  you  have  come  because  you  could  no  longer 
stay  away." 

Pablo  flashed  his  teeth  in  a  smile  of  understand- 
ing and  took  the  path  that  led  round  the  house.  He 
followed  it  to  the  sunken  cellar  that  had  been  built 
for  a  milkhouse.  Noiselessly  he  tiptoed  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  dark  room.  The  plop-plop  of  a 
churn  dasher  told  him  Juanita  was  here  even  before 
his  eyes  could  make  her  out  in  the  darkness. 


306        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Presently  he  saw  more  clearly  the  slender  figure 
bent  a  little  wearily  over  the  churn.  Softly  he  trod 
forward.  His  hand  went  out  and  closed  on  the 
handle  above  hers.  In  startled  surprise  she  turned. 

"You— Pablo !"  she  cried  faintly. 

"I  have  so  longed  to  see  you — to  come  to  you  and 

tell  you  I  was  wrong,  nina Oh,  you  don't 

know  how  I  have  wanted  to  come.  But  my  pride — 
my  hard,  foolish  pride — it  held  me  back.  But  no 
longer,  heart  of  my  heart,  can  I  wait.  Tell  me  that 
you  forgive — that  you  will  love  me  again — in  spite 
of  what  I  said  and  have  done.  I  cannot  get  along 
without  my  little  Juanita,"  he  cried  in  the  soft 
Spanish  that  was  native  to  them  both. 

She  was  in  his  arms,  crying  softly,  nestling  close 
to  him  so  that  his  love  might  enfold  her  more 
warmly.  Always  Juanita  had  been  a  soft,  clinging 
child,  happy  only  in  an  atmosphere  of  affection. 
She  responded  to  caresses  as  a  rose  does  to  the  sun- 
light. Pablo  had  been  her  first  lover,  the  most 
constant  of  them  all.  She  had  relied  upon  him  as 
a  child  does  upon  its  mother.  When  he  had  left  her 
in  anger  and  not  returned  she  had  been  miserably 
unhappy.  Now  all  was  well  again,  since  Pablo  had 
come  back  to  her. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE  PRINCE   CONSORT 

Valencia  returned  to  Don  Manuel's  room  carry- 
ing a  gunny  sack.  She  found  Dick  Gordon  sitting 
beside  his  rival's  bed  amiably  discussing  with  him 
the  respective  values  of  the  Silver  Doctor  and  the 
Jock  Scott  for  night  fishing.  Dick  rose  at  her  en- 
trance to  offer  a  chair. 

She  was  all  fire  and  animation.  Her  eyes  spar- 
kled, reflecting  light  as  little  wavelets  of  a  sun- 
kissed  lake. 

"Supreme  Court  decision  just  come  down  in  your 
favor?"  asked  the  other  claimant  to  the  valley  with 
genial  irony. 

"No,  but — guess  what  I've  got  here." 

"A  new  hat,"  hazarded  Gordon,  furrowing  his 
brow  in  deep  thought. 

"Treason!"  protested  Manuel.  "Does  the  lady 
live  who  would  put  her  new  hat  in  a  gunny  sack?" 

"You  may  have  three  guesses,  each  of  you,"  re- 
plied Miss  Valdes,  dimpling. 
307 


308         A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

The  miner  guessed  two  guinea  pigs,  a  million 
dollars,  and  a  pair  of  tango  slippers.  Pesquiera 
went  straight  to  the  mark. 

"A  tin  box,"  he  said. 

"Right,  Manuel.  Pablo  brought  it.  He  had  just 
heard  I  was  looking  for  the  box — says  he  found  it 
the  night  of  the  fire  and  took  it  home  with  him. 
His  idea  was  that  we  might  use  the  papers  to  help 
our  fight." 

"Good  idea,"  agreed  the  Cripple  Creek  man,  with 
twinkling  eyes.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
the  papers  now  you  have  them,  Miss  Valdes  ?" 

"Going  to  give  them  to  their  owner,"  she  replied, 
and  swung  the  sack  into  his  lap. 

He  took  out  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket, 
fitted  one  to  the  lock  of  the  box,  and  threw  up  the 
lid.  Carefully  he  looked  the  papers  over. 

"They  are  all  here — every  last  one.  I'm  still 
lord  of  the  Rio  Chama  Valley — unless  my  lawyers 
are  fooling  me  mighty  bad." 

"It's  a  difference  of  opinion  that  makes  horse 
races,  Senor,"  retorted  Manuel  gaily  from  his  pil- 
lows. 

"I'll  bet  one  of  Mrs.  Corbett's  cookies  there's  no 
difference  of  opinion  between  my  lawyers  and  those 
of  Miss  Valdes.  What  do  you  honestly  think  your- 
self about  the  legal  end,  ma'am?" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        309 

"I  think  that  law  and  justice  were  divorced  a 
good  many  years  ago,"  she  answered  promptly. 

"Which  is  another  way  of  saying  that  you  ex- 
pect me  to  win  out." 

"By  advice  of  counsel  we  decline  to  make  any  ad- 
missions, sir." 

"You  don't  have  to  say  a  word.  The  facts  do  all 
the  talking  that  is  necessary."  Gordon  glanced  in 
a  business-like  fashion  over  several  papers.  "This 
would  be  a  fine  time  for  friend  Pablo  to  attack  me 
again.  Here  are  several  of  the  original  papers — 
deed  of  the  grant,  map  of  it  with  the  first  survey 
made,  letters  showing  that  old  Moreno  lived  several 
years  in  the  valley  after  your  people  were  driven 
out  at  the  time  of  the  change  in  government.  By 
the  way,  here's  a  rather  interesting  document.  Like 
to  look  at  it,  Miss  Valdes?" 

He  handed  to  her  a  paper  done  up  in  a  blue  cover 
after  the  fashion  of  modern  legal  pleadings.  Valen- 
cia glanced  it  over.  Her  eye  caught  at  a  phrase 
which  interested  her  and  ran  rapidly  down  the  page. 

"But — I  don't  understand  what  this  means — un- 
less  " 

She  looked  up  quickly  at  Gordon,  an  eager  ques- 
tion in  her  face. 

"It  means  what  it  says,  though  it's  all  wrapped 
up  in  dictionary  words  the  way  all  law  papers  are." 


310        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

Valencia  passed  the  document  to  Pesquiera. 
"Read  that,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  it  means, 
Manuel."  Her  face  was  flushed  with  excitement, 
and  in  her  voice  there  was  a  suggestion  of  tremu- 
lousness. 

The  Spaniard  read,  and  as  he  read  his  eyes,  too, 
glowed. 

"It  means,  my  cousin,  that  you  have  to  do  with  a 
very  knightly  foe.  By  this  paper  he  relinquishes  all 
claim,  title  and  interest  in  the  Moreno  grant  to 
Valencia  Valdes,  who  he  states  to  be  in  equity  the 
rightful  owner  of  same.  Valencia,  I  congratulate 
you.  But  most  of  all  I  congratulate  Mr.  Gordon. 
Few  men  have  the  courage  to  make  a  gift  of  a  half 
million  acres  of  land  merely  because  they  have  no 
moral  title  to  it."  x 

"Sho!  I  never  did  want  the  land,  anyhow.  I  got 
interested  in  the  scrap.  That's  all."  The  miner 
looked  as  embarrassed  as  if  he  had  been  caught 
stealing  a  box  of  cigars. 

The  young  woman  had  gone  from  pink  to  white. 
The  voice  in  which  she  spoke  was  low  and  unsteady. 

"It's  a  splendid  thing  to  do — the  gift  of  a  king.  I 
don't  know — that  I  can  accept  it — even  for  the  sake 
of  my  people.  I  know  now  you  would  be  fair  to 
them.  You  wouldn't  throw  them  out.  You  would 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        311 

give  new  deeds  to  those  who  have  bought  land, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"How  are  you  going  to  keep  from  accepting  it, 
Miss  Valdes  ?  That  paper  is  a  perfectly  legal  docu- 
ment." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "I  could  light  a  cigarette, 
Mr.  Gordon,  as  you  once  did." 

"Not  a  bit  of  use.  I  wired  to  Santa  Fe  by  Steve 
to  have  that  paper — the  original  of  it — put  on  rec- 
ord this  afternoon.  By  this  time  I  expect  you're  the 
princess  of  the  Rio  Chama  all  right." 

She  still  hesitated,  the  tide  of  feeling  running 
full  in  her  heart.  It  was  all  very  well  for  this  casual 
youth  to  make  her  a  present  of  a  half  million  acres 
of  land  in  this  debonair  way,  but  she  could  not  per- 
suade herself  to  accept  so  munificent  a  gift. 

"I  don't  know — I'll  have  to  think — if  you  are  the 
legal  owner " 

"You're  welching,"  he  told  her  amiably.  "I  make 
a  legal  deed  of  conveyance  because  we  are  all  agreed 
that  my  title  isn't  morally  good.  We're  not  a  bunch 
of  pettifoggers.  All  of  us  are  aiming  to  get  at 
what's  right  in  settling  this  thing.  You  know  what 
is  right.  So  do  I.  So  does  Mr.  Pesquiera.  Enough 
said.  All  we  have  to  do  then  is  to  act  according  to 
the  best  we  know.  Looks  simple  to  me." 

"Maybe  it  wouldn't  look  so  simple  if  you  were 


312        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

at  the  other  end  of  the  bargain,  Mr.  Gordon.  To 
give  is  more  blessed  than  to  receive,  you  know." 

"Sure.  I  understand  that.  I  get  the  glory  and  do 
all  the  grand-standing.  But  you'll  have  to  stand  for 
it,  I  reckon." 

"I'm  going  to  think  it  over.  Then  I'll  let  you 
know  what  I  can  do."  She  looked  at  him  sharply,  a 
new  angle  of  the  situation  coming  home  to  her. 
"You  meant  to  do  this  from  the  first,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"Not  quite  from  the  first.  After  you  had  taken 
me  to  your  ranch  and  I  had  seen  how  things  stood 
between  you  and  the  folks  in  the  valley  I  did. 
You've  smoked  me,  ma'am.  I'm  a  born  grand- 
stander."  He  laughed  in  amusement  at  himself.  "I 
wanted  to  be  it,  the  hero  of  the  piece,  the  white- 
haired  boy.  But  that  wasn't  the  way  it  panned  out. 
I  was  elected  villain  most  unanimous,  and  came 
mighty  near  being  put  out  of  business  a  few  times 
before  I  could  make  the  public  sabe  I  was  only  play 
acting.  Funny  how  things  work  out.  Right  at  the 
last  when  I've  got  the  spotlight  all  trained  for  me 
to  star  and  the  music  playing  soft  and  low,  Don 
Manuel  here  jumps  in  and  takes  the  stage  from  me 
by  rescuing  the  villain  from  a  fiery  furnace.  I  don't 
get  any  show,"  he  complained  whimsically. 

Valencia  smiled.  "The  action  of  the  play  has  all 
revolved  around  you,  anyhow.  That  ought  to  sat- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        313 

isfy  you.  Without  you  there  wouldn't  have  been 
any  entertainment  at  all." 

"I've  had  plenty  of  fun  for  my  money.  I'm  not 
making  any  complaint  at  all.  When  a  pretender  in- 
vades a  country  to  put  the  reigning  queen  out  of 
business  he  has  a  license  to  expect  a  real  warm  wel- 
come. Well,  I  got  it." 

Once  again  Jimmie  Corbett  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, this  time  with  a  yellow  envelope  which  he 
handed  to  Gordon. 

Dick  read  the  enclosed  telegram  and  passed  it  to 
Pesquiera. 

The  Spaniard  waved  his  hand  and  made  a  feeble 
attempt  at  a  cheer. 

"Am  I  to  hear  the  good  news  ?"  Valencia  asked. 

"Read  it,  Mr.  Pesquiera." 

Manuel  read : 

"Relinquishment  of  claim  to  Moreno  grant  in 
favor  of  Valencia  Valdes  filed  ten  minutes  ago. 
Have  you  taken  my  advice  in  regard  to  consolida- 
tion? KATE  UNDERWOOD." 

"What  does  she  mean  about  a  consolidation?" 
asked  Miss  Valdes. 

Dick  flushed.  "Oh,  that  was  just  something  we 
were  talking  over — some  foolishness  or  other,  I 
reckon.  Nothing  to  it.  The  important  point  is  that 


814        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

the  legal  fight  is  over.  You're  now  the  owner  of 
both  the  Valdes  and  the  Moreno  claims." 

"Le  roi  est  mort!  Vive  la  reine!"  cried  Manuel 
gaily. 

"I  can't  be  said  to  have  had  a  very  peaceful  reign. 
Wish  you  better  luck,  ma'am."  He  let  his  eyes  rest 
drolly  on  the  invalid  for  a  moment.  "And  I  hope 
when  you  take  a  prince  consort  to  share  the  throne 
he'll  meet  all  expectations — which  I'm  sure  he  will." 

Dick  shook  hands  with  the  bright-eyed  flushing 
girl. 

She  laughed  in  the  midst  of  her  blushes.  "Gra- 
cias,  senor!  I'll  save  your  good  wishes  till  they  are 
needed." 

"Adios,  Don  Manuel.  See  you  to-morrow  if 
you're  up  to  it.  I  expect  you've  had  enough  excite- 
ment for  one  day." 

"I'll  let  you  know  then  whether  I  can  accept  your 
gift,  Mr.  Gordon,"  Valencia  told  him. 

"That's  all  settled,"  he  assured  her  as  he  left. 

It  was  in  the  evening  that  he  saw  her  again.  Dick 
had  stopped  in  the  hall  on  the  way  to  his  room  to 
examine  a  .303  Savage  carbine  he  found  propped 
against  the  wall.  He  had  picked  the  weapon  up 
when  a  voice  above  hailed  him.  He  looked  up. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        315 

Valencia  was  leaning  across  the  balustrade  of  the 
stairway. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Mr.  Gordon." 

"Same  here,"  he  answered  promptly.  "I  mean  I 
want  to  talk  with  you.  Let's  take  a  walk." 

"No.  You're  not  up  to  a  walk.  We'll  drive.  My 
rig  is  outside." 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  flying  over  the  hard 
roads  packed  with  rubble  from  decomposed  sand- 
stone. Neither  of  them  spoke  for  some  time.  He 
was  busy  with  the  reins,  and  she  was  content  to  lean 
back  and  watch  him.  To  her  there  was  something 
very  attractive  about  the  set  of  his  well-modeled 
head  upon  the  broad  shoulders.  He  had  just  been 
shaved,  and  the  scent  of  the  soap  wafted  to  her  a 
pleasant  sense  of  intimacy  with  his  masculinity.  She 
could  see  the  line  above  which  the  tiny  white  hairs 
grew  thick  on  the  bronzed  cheeks.  A  strange  de- 
light stirred  in  her  maiden  heart,  a  joy  in  his  physi- 
cal well-being  that  longed  for  closer  contact. 

None  of  this  reached  the  surface  when  she  spoke 
at  last. 

"I  can't  let  things  go  the  way  you  have  arranged 
them,  Mr.  Gordon.  It  isn't  fair.  After  the  way  I 
and  my  people  have  treated  you  I  can't  be  the  object 
of  such  unlimited  generosity  at  your  hands." 

"Justice,"  he  suggested  by  way  of  substitution. 


316        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

"No,  generosity,"  she  insisted.  "Why  should  you 
be  forced  to  give  way  to  me?  What  have  I  done 
any  more  than  you  to  earn  all  this?" 

"Now  you  know  we've  all  agreed " 

"Agreed!"  she  interrupted  sharply.  "We've 
taken  it  for  granted  that  I  had  some  sort  of  divine 
right.  When  I  look  into  it  I  see  that's  silly.  We're 
living  in  America,  not  in  Spain  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  I've  no  right  except  what  the  law  gives 
me." 

"Well,  the  law's  clear  now.  I'm  tired  of  being 
shot  at  and  starved  and  imprisoned  and  burned  to 
make  a  Mexican  holiday.  I'm  fed  up  with  the  ex- 
citement your  friends  have  offered  me.  Honest,  I'm 
glad  to  quit.  I  don't  want  the  grant,  anyhow.  I'm 
a  miner.  We've  just  made  a  good  strike  in  the  Last 
Dollar.  I'm  going  back  to  look  after  it." 

"You  can't  make  me  believe  anything  of  the  kind, 
Mr.  Gordon.  I  know  you've  made  a  strike,  but  you 
had  made  it  before  you  ever  came  to  the  valley. 
Mr.  Davis  told  me  so.  We  simply  couldn't  drive 
you  out.  That's  all  humbug.  You  want  me  to  have 
it — and  I'm  not  going  to  take  it.  That's  all  there  is 
to  it,  sir." 

He  smiled  down  upon  her.  "I  never  did  see  any- 
one so  obstinate  and  so  changeable.  As  long  as  I 
wanted  the  land  you  were  going  to  have  it;  now  I 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        317 

don't  want  it  you  won't  take  it.  Isn't  that  just  like 
a  woman  ?" 

"You  know  why  I  won't  take  it.  From  the  very 
first  you've  played  the  better  part.  We've  mistreated 
you  in  every  way  we  could.  Now  you  want  to 
drown  me  in  a  lake  of  kindness.  I  just  can't  accept 
it.  If  you  want  to  compromise  on  a  fair  "business 
basis  I'll  do  that." 

"You've  got  a  first-rate  chance  to  be  generous, 
too,  Miss  Valdes.  I'm  like  a  kid.  I  want  to  put  this 
thing  over  my  way  so  that  I'll  look  big.  Be  a  nice 
girl  and  let  me  have  my  own  way.  You  know  I 
said  my  wedding  present  was  in  that  tin  box.  Don't 
spoil  everything.  Show  me  that  you  do  think  we're 
friends  at  last." 

"We're  friends — if  you're  sure  you  forgive  me," 
she  said  shyly. 

"Nothing  in  the  world  to  forgive,"  he  retorted 
cheerfully.  "I've  had  the  time  of  my  life.  Now  I 
must  go  home  and  get  to  work." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  quietly,  looking  straight  in 
front  of  her. 

He  drove  in  silence  for  a  mile  or  two  before  he 
resumed  the  conversation. 

"Of  course  I'll  want  to  come  back  for  the  wed- 
ding if  you  send  me  an  invitation.  I  think  a  good 


318        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

deal  of  the  prince  consort,  you  know.  He's  one 
man  from  the  ground  up." 

"Yes?" 

"He's  the  only  man  I  know  that's  good  enough 
for  you.  The  more  I  see  of  him  the  better  I  like 
him.  He's  sure  the  gamest  ever,  a  straight-up  man 
if  ever  there  was  one." 

"I'm  glad  of  that."  She  flashed  a  little  sidelong 
look  at  him  and  laughed  tremulously.  "It's  good  of 
you  to  pick  me  a  husband  you  can  endorse  so 
heartily.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  his  name — if 
it  isn't  a  secret?" 

"You  know  mighty  well,  but  I  reckon  all  girls 
play  the  game  of  making  believe  it  isn't  so  for  a 
while.  All  right.  You  don't  have  to  admit  it  till  the 
right  time.  But  you'll  send  me  a  card,  won't  you  ?" 

Her  eyes,  shyly  daring,  derided  him.  "That's  no 
fair,  Mr.  Gordon.  You  go  out  of  your  way  to  pick 
a  prince  consort  for  me — a  perfect  paragon  I'm 
given  to  understand — and  then  you  expect  me  to 
say  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,'  without  even  being  told 
his  name." 

He  smiled.  "Oh,  well,  you  can  laugh  at  me  all 
you  like." 

"But  I'm  not  laughing  at  you,"  she  corrected,  her 
eyes  dancing.  "I'm  trying  to  find  out  who  this 
Admirable  Crichton  is.  Surely  I'm  within  my 


,A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS        319 

rights.  This  isn't  Turkey,  you  know.  Perhaps  I 
mayn't  like  him.  Or,  more  important  still,  he  may 
not  like  me." 

"Go  right  ahead  with  your  fun.    Don't  mind  me." 

"I  don't  believe  you've  got  a  prince  consort  for 
me  at  all.  If  you  had  you  wouldn't  dodge  around 
like  this." 

At  that  instant  he  caught  sight  by  chance  of  her 
ungloved  left  hand.  Again  he  observed  that  the 
solitaire  was  missing.  His  eyes  flashed  to  hers.  A 
sudden  hope  was  born  in  his  heart.  He  drew  the 
horse  to  a  halt. 

"Are  you  telling  me  that — • —  ?  What  about  Don 
Manuel  ?"  he  demanded. 

Now  that  the  crisis  was  upon  her,  she  would  have 
evaded  it  if  she  could.  Her  long  lashes  fluttered  to 
the  hot  cheeks. 

"He  is  my  cousin  and  my  friend — the  best  friend 
I  have,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"No  more  than  that?" 

"No  more."  She  lifted  her  eyes  and  tried  to  meet 
his  boldly.  "And  now  I  really  think  you've  been 
impudent  enough,  don't  you  ?" 

He  imprisoned  her  hands  in  his.  "If  it  isn't  Don 
Manuel  who  is  it?" 

She  knew  her  eyes  had  failed  her,  that  they  had 
told  him  too  much.  An  agony  of  shyness  drenched 


320        A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DONS 

her  from  head  to  foot,  but  there  was  no  escape  from 
his  masterful  insistence. 

"Will  you  let  me  go  ...  please?" 

"No— not  till  you  tell  me  that  you  love  me,  Valen- 
cia, not  till  you've  made  me  the  happiest  man  alive." 

"But  .  .  ." 

He  plunged  forward,  an  insurgent  hope  shaking 
his  imperturbability. 

"Is  it  yes,  dear?  Don't  keep  me  waiting.  Do  I 
win  or  lose,  Valencia?" 

Bravely  her  eyes  lifted  to  his.  "I  love  you  with 
all  my  heart  and  soul.  I  always  have  from  the  first. 
I  always  shall  as  long  as  life  lasts,"  she  murmured. 

Swept  away  by  the  abandon  of  her  adorable  con- 
fession, he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  drew  her  to 
him.  Close  as  breathing  he  held  her,  her  heart  beat- 
ing against  his  like  a  fluttering  bird.  A  delicious 
faintness  overcame  her.  She  lay  in  his  embrace, 
wonderfully  content. 

The  dewy  eyes  lifted  again  to  his.  Of  their  own 
volition  almost  their  lips  met  for  the  first  kiss. 

THE  END 


Date  Due 


CAT.    NO.    23   233  PRINTED    IN    U.S.A. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  134866    1 


;; 


mil  i 

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